How I Met Marianne

Fifth Monday after Pentecost

St. Peter and St. Paul's Day  Color:Red

The blog is back. I sent out an email to almost all of you announcing the blog's return. Some of you may have gotten it more than once. My apologies, if you did. 

Monday is Faith Journey Narrative Day. It has been a longer journey than I originally anticipated. I haven't dealt with the topic of romance so far. It was not something I was tremendously successful with--until August 8, 1981. 

For seven years I was a single divorced United Methodist pastor and chaplain. For the first year and half of that time I had no dates. One thing I found out is that when you meet a potential date, one of the first things she asks is "What do you do for a living?" "I'm a United Methodist minister" never seems to be the answer she wants to hear. Over the next four years I did manage quite a few dates. The blind dates set up by church members were usually the worst. I've got a lot of bad stories, but I'll limit myself to one. 

When the matchmakers say, "You'll really like her," it means they really like her. I was 33. They set me up with a 22 year old living with her parents. I took her to a Chinese restaurant. She opened the menu, then opened her mouth--in disbelief. I swiftly discerned the problem and told her I would help her order. Her initial look of horror turned into a look of embarrassment. I discerned that she liked chicken and ordered the blandest chicken dish on the menu. When the meal came, the look of horror returned. I thought she might be impressed by my facility with chopsticks, but she looked at me as if she had no idea what I was doing. I told her that it was fine to use a knife and fork. She did neither. She simply stared at her plate. I ate and talked. I could hardly get a yes or a no out of her. She ate nothing. I paid. I took her home in silence. Her parents invited me in to listen to a Duke basketball game on radio. She soon excused herself and went to bed. I felt sorry for her, but sorry for me too. What could the matchmakers possibly have been thinking?

That was in '77.  In '81, when I was Chaplain at Tennessee Wesleyan, I had a close friend who was a Psychology Prof., Doris Burrus. She also served as a counselor to me and eventually a matchmaker. She got me a date with a Psychologist friend, who was divorced and my age. It was ok but not ok enough for a second date. Doris had another one, a kindergarten teacher, who was a member of Doris's church. Doris was somewhat apologetic about this ones being a kindergarten teacher, but said she was very smart, had a master's, was well read. Doris also said that I would simply meet this woman at a large gathering. If we hit it off, fine. If not, I was not obligated and she was not obligated to spend the whole evening together. There would be plenty of people.

The event was a company picnic that someone in Doris's church had invited both Doris and the kindergarten teacher to. I went to the picnic with Doris and her husband Ross. It was on a large piece of farmland. We walked, I in between Doris and Ross, over a hill. Just over the crest of the hill I looked down into a open greenspace where a group of the picnic people were playing volleyball. The player on the front row, far end, immediately caught my eye. She was tall, long flowing blond hair, a radiant face in the setting sun, in jeans and a bright yellow shirt. I thought, "I really wished she were the one I was meeting tonight." Then I looked around at the 60 or so other people there and wondered which one it would be. Ross and Doris introduced me to a couple of friends, whom I talked to for a few minutes, while Doris wandered off to talk to others. 

In a few minutes Doris tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around. She said, "I'd like you to meet Marianne Huffman." Oh, my Gosh!!! It was the girl in the yellow shirt playing volleyball. I couldn't believe it. The four of us went through the barbecue line, got our food and a place to sit. Marianne started the conversation. She was completely natural. It was if she had known me all her life. We spent a delightful evening talking and talking. As the picnic was coming the a close, we needed to carry a cooler up to the house. She took one handle of the cooler; I took the other. I thought, "It's almost like we're holding hands."  

That was Friday. I called her on Sunday and we made a date for dinner the next weekend. On Monday I was telling my history professor friend Dave about my meeting Marianne. He made a wild suggestion. He said I ought to send her flowers, but not send the flowers to her home. Rather, I should send them to the teacher's lounge of her school. All the teachers would see them and talk about what a nice guy she had met. I did it. It worked.

That following Friday I took her out to the most elegant restaurant in Knoxville, The Orangerie. It was a wonderful evening (and the most money I had ever paid for a dinner). Since that time there have been countless long dinners with long leisurely conversations with this woman who talks to me like she's known me all my life. 

Faithfully,

Christian

P.S. I later found out that Marianne was also set up to meet two other men at that same picnic.