James:

Her eyes were wildly unsure. My eyes search frantically for any sign of acceptance. She spoke quietly and shortly. I spoke quickly and foolishly, my nerves running ahead of me making my already inapt tongue tumble with stammers and less-than-well-thought-out speech. I handed her the painting almost reluctantly knowing how odd and foolish such an act was, yet my hands moved stubbornly as if I could not hold them back. She took it with apprehension. I received no concrete answers to my request or offers. And that was it. My heart could not take any more of the settled silence and the torrent of thoughts that roared of failure and incompetence.

I walked away not knowing if she saw anything more than a strange, foolish boy attempting to pursue a beautiful, unreachable woman . . .

. . . Three Weeks Earlier

The first thing it noticed about her was her spirit. Spirits are a funny thing to see? feel? know? I don't know how I knew what I knew. It is as if the immaterial world is so intertwined with the physical we forget that what we know was not gained through physical observation, but through a sixth kind of sense. What I knew was that she was meek and humble. The way she responded to others and the way she served me as I came to get a boxed dinner proved it. She worked with a patient attitude and kind eyes. Those eyes could break melancholy in a moment, and they often did as I walked through those dining hall doors.

As I came in that Saturday evening I did not know how my world would turn right side up and how it would begin a storm of emotions that I, in the moment, despised. She had a meek and quiet spirit, an inward beauty that then drew me to her outward beauty. She was stunning. She still is. All at once I knew that she was unique, beautiful, and good. Of course, I had no way of actually knowing this, but I believed that I did, otherwise I would not have acted the way that I did.

My entire attitude changed as I came those evenings to get dinner. I looked forward to seeing her. I was also terrified. For three weeks I convinced myself to say something other than, "Thank you." But for those three weeks, my heart would stop my mouth from opening. My face became red as I met her eyes (again those eyes). I fumbled taking the box and hurried past her as I left. All during this time I was praying-that-fervent-hoping-whimsical kind of prayer. Those three weeks were tumultuous and ended in this proclamation: "God, I'm done. I'm not doing this." That Monday night I slept soundly promising that I would not talk to this girl.

Tuesday morning, I woke up, dressed, and headed to class. As I exited the elevator on my floor, I turned the corner towards the classroom. And she was there, sitting on the bench I had habitually waited on every Tuesday and Thursday morning. I walked past quickly, my heart increasing in beats for every step taken. I set my bag down in a vacant chair and pulled out the little canvas. In my three weeks, I had painted something I knew she would like: a scene of the seashore. Painting had always been a way to settle my heart; Katie was no exception.

I walked past her again, into the bathroom to gain whatever composure I could muster. I prayed and walked back out. She was on her phone, as beautiful as ever, and I am sure she had noticed me by now. I came up to her and in the worst possible fashion introduced myself.

She half smiled and blinked as I attempted to articulate that I was interested in her and that I wanted to get to know her. As I stated before, I left in a state of unknown. I learned nothing that day. Later, her friend and I had class together, and I explained how horribly I had introduced myself. She encouraged me and said that she would talk to her.

Those hours and days passed slowly. We started texting each other back and forth, also very slowly. I didn't see her again until Saturday evening. I remember saying something to the effect of, "You know that you're really pretty, right?" We were both nervous and blushing ear to ear. I hadn't exactly failed.

We continued talking until Tuesday. I must have asked her to stay behind after her class, and I had one of those utterly brilliant ideas. The kind of idea that seems completely reasonable and obvious after looking at it right. I ask her if I could walk her to chapel.

And every Tuesday and Thursday for the rest of that semester, I had the privilege of walking Miss Katie Angel Winkler to chapel.

As the saying goes, "the rest was history. . ."

Katie:

The Author began interweaving our stories on April 12, 2022. It was a morning I remember well. I had gotten to class early and was waiting for it to begin when a boy I recognized as one of the security guys from around campus came up and introduced himself to me. I could tell he was nervous, and I did not know what to say, so I just let him do the talking. I did not quite know what to make of that first interaction until I began seeing him all over campus. Our relationship grew from meeting here and there casually to spending much more time together. By the end of the semester, he took me to our first Fine Arts of many.

We were unaware of how the Author was going to continue our story as we parted ways for the summer, but little did we know, He had a beautiful plan. Through exchanged letters and other correspondence, our relationship continued to grow. By the end of the summer, he made arrangements to come meet my family, and on August 14, 2022, he asked me to be his girlfriend. Our relationship began to truly blossom from there.

As the following school semester began, the Author again guided every step. This was the year in which we really grew together and learned from and about each other. Everything from homework, to meals, to church services only enhanced that growth and grew our love. The Author knew from the very beginning how well we complemented each other in ways we only just began to discover. Between studies, we found time for fun things as well. Some of our favorite hobbies included reading, walking, painting, rollerblading, checkers, DP's (PCC’s dramatic productions), and of course, Fine Arts. As that school year came to a close and arrangements for the summer were made, we realized time was a precious commodity. As we spent the summer apart again, we understood that it was written within the Authors plan.

The following school year was where we really began to question the direction that the Author was choosing to write our story, but all the while, His pen strokes proved that indeed He still had a plan. This time included much heartache, prayer, and trust, but again: growth. While we would have never chosen the direction our story had taken us, we realized the importance of trusting the Author. We learned to count every blessing. And in the end, our love abounded more than ever.

Even though the next school year had us in two separate locations, with me finishing up my last year at school and him teaching in his field, there was a persistent sense of calm that grew from the trust that the Author was indeed still in control of our story. On what I thought was just another weekend, October 19, 2024, became the most unforgettable day. With every moment and detail planned out to perfection, this was the day he asked me to be his bride.

As our story continues to be written, I look forward to June 27, 2025, where I will finally get to say "I do" to the man of my dreams.

Registry