Well, as it turns out, I had an extremely busy weekend and was unable to get my extraordinary moment of December written out.

For those of you that are new, I’ve been documenting last year through a series called “Nine Extraordinary Moments of 2009.” Everything from broken down U-Hauls to raging soldiers to harsh boy-girl shutdowns have been covered. It was an [extraordinary] year–– what can I say?

My November moment, in case you missed it, was the story of receiving my future father-in-law’s approval for marriage to his daughter. Fittingly, December’s moment will be the story of receiving that daughter’s approval for marriage. Here’s how it went down:

9. December; Glendale, Arizona.

On Christmas Eve morning, I boarded a plane that was headed for Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport. This was completely unbeknownst to Bethany, who was becoming increasingly upset at the [seeming] reality that we’d be spending Christmas apart.

Leading up to Christmas Eve, I was experiencing a strange dichotomy. As we’d talk on the phone, text message, and iChat, Bethany was becoming increasingly upset with us being apart during the holidays. While I, too, missed her, I found myself excited to see how clueless she was concerning my plan. I had been lying to her and misleading her for over a month and it all seemed to be working, as displayed by her behavior. If she only knew that in a matter of days we’d be engaged, her behavior would be much less sorrowful and much more excited.

When I exited the airplane, Bethany’s best friend Siobhan picked me up. The two of us then found a ring box (sorry for the blurriness and creepy green eyes) and prepared for the big moment ahead.

Perfectly in sync with my plan, earlier that day, Bethany requested that her family take family photos at dusk. While they were gone taking photos, Siobhan dropped me, my bags, and a special book at the Miller house, where I’d wait to propose.

Now, the special book that I carried with me that day was a quintessential part of my plan. It was a scrapbook-esque chronicle of our relationship to date with lots of journalish writing. The book was originally one of Bethany’s birthday presents to me and, to this point, had been entirely assembled by her. My plan, which I had conceived just days before, was to make a page in the book that would chronicle the event of our engagement as if it was a past event. On the page, I’d tell Bethany the story of my talk with her dad, getting her ring (a long story for another day), scheming with her mom (who was, obviously, incredibly supportive and helpful throughout), lying to her, and being picked up by Siobhan. The page concluded saying, “You read this page for the
first time ever. You then found me in your backyard and accepted my marriage proposal.”

After the family arrived home, Bethany’s mom retrieved the book from a predetermined spot and told Bethany that it was an early Christmas present from me. Then, Bethany opened the book, flipped to the last page, and went into shock. There was no way that the page told the truth, she reasoned. Absolutely no way. Just an hour before, I had sent her a picture of my little sister and I making Christmas cards (it was actually a picture taken the day before of us working on the scrapbook page). And, earlier that afternoon, I had complained to her of the traffic my brother, dad, and I were experiencing as we did last minute Christmas shopping and how our family was debating whether or not to go to Christmas Eve service (both blatant lies).

However, after a tear-filled delay (tears of joy, of course), she followed my instructions and found me in her backyard, smiling. *Beaming. And she walked toward me smiling, but embarrassed from her crying. Because of the book, she knew what was next. We chatted for a minute before I did it–– I bent my knee (you ladies often want to know this piece of information) and asked Bethany to marry me.

She said “yes.”

The few hours which followed the event were some of my favorite of 2009. Bethany’s mom offered us, who were both still slightly shocked by the whole thing, her car to spend a few moments alone. So, we drove around looking at Christmas lights, entirely pleasant. Each time I looked at her that night, my heart  swelled with excitement–– this was the beginning of all that lay ahead.

wwww

A picture taken right after the proposal on Christmas Eve.

So, there you have it. That was my year. Do you feel like we spent it together? I wish it had been a bit more exciting, but I’m impressed you read about it anyway.

_

___________

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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8. November; Tempe, Arizona.

I spent Thanksgiving 2009 in Arizona with Bethany’s family. It was only my second time ever spending Thanksgiving away from my family. But it was awesome–– 75 degrees, sunny, and tasty. And I had fun getting to know more of Bethany’s family members.

Prior to leaving for the trip, Bethany was unsure as to how I’d spend the day after Thanksgiving. For the last several years, the ladies in Bethany’s family bond through venturing out for [in]famous Black Friday shopping. As for how I’d end up spending the day, I had intent. Ambitious intent.

That morning, I woke up early, made coffee, and chatted with Scott–– Bethany’s dad.

[A few words to describe Bethany's dad: tender, quirky, firefighter, mustache, thin, vitamin, organic, hiking].

The two of us then spent a couple of hours in the family’s prayer room streaming an IHOP set (which is now free to do). I spent a lot of this time praying about what was to follow…

We set out to run some errands, planning to finish our time out with lunch at a place Scott frequently raved about, due to its all-natural, organic, and local menu. After our errands–– to some pretty hectic places, mind you–– and quite a bit of time sitting in traffic, we headed for Tempe, the home of Arizona State University. Tempe is also the home of the delicious Essence Bakery, the lunch place that Scott acclaimed so highly.

My intent, my ambitious intent, for the meal was to ask Mr. Miller for his blessing on Bethany and I getting married. Such had been my plan for quite some time. And so it was that, as we approached the restaurant, the cocoons in my stomach hatched and multitudes of nerve-carrying butterflies were released. This was it.

We sat down, and I began to rehearse my lines in my head.

[Ironically, much like the table in front of me at The Roasterie is rehearsing their lines for a play. Except, they're rehearsing without restraint, and with no regard for those around them. Thanks, Theatre Club–– I hope your booster program does well this year so you can afford a facility for rehearsal. Maybe?]

“Mr. Miller, the last seven months of my life have been wonderful, amazing, incredible, magnificent.” Fail. Too cliché. Too fake.

“Mr. Miller, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know your family and I’ve fallen in love with them and I was wondering if maybe you’d let me be a part of it. I’d like to marry your daughter.” Wrong again. Too rehearsed.

“Mr. Miller, can I marry your daughter please?” Closer. Better. But too abrupt.

After a few rounds of such rehearsals, I decided that I should stop before I lost my mind. So I set a timetable for my delivery. When the food came, I thought, I’d man up and ask. A dozen bites of my Mediterranean Roasted Vegetable sandwich later, I gulped big and began.

“Um,” I graciously introduced my question, “I’ve been trying to think of a fancy way to say this all day, but I don’t know if I need to use eloquence. I was wondering if I could officially have your blessing to marry Bethany.” My voice was shaky . My hands and legs were too.

What happened next is the extraordinary part of the moment. Mr. Miller paused, finished his bite, and leaned forward. “Absolutely,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye and grin on his face.

The conversation which followed was so unusual, so extraordinary that I considered celebrating Thanksgiving all over again. The man I could now confidently refer to as my ‘future father-in-law’ drenched me in affirmation. He spoke of how much he loved me. How much he trusted me. How excited he was for me. And how he earnestly wished to help me in whatever way he could–– even offering his class ring to be used for the gold in Bethany’s engagement ring.

Later, we talked about potential wedding dates, children, adoption, and where to raise a family. It was awesome.

December’s extraordinary moment is next. You may (or may not) know what it is… If you guess correctly, I’ll enter you into a drawing for a $10 iTunes gift card*. Seriously.

*Anyone can guess, even if you know it. If you guess correctly, I’ll put your name in the drawing. Your last chance to guess is Friday by Noon EST. The drawing will take place over the weekend. Holler.

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(To those of you who stopped by yesterday and found a faulty site: my apologies. I made a blunder).

6. August; Oakland, California.

(Precursor: none of the below details are embellished in the least).

One beautiful Sunday afternoon in Oakland, I was driving to John Madden’s house (actually, I was driving to his next door neighbor’s house but, for all intensive purposes…). I was driving my future mother-in-law’s car, enjoying a few moments to myself toward the end of a ministry trip I was helping to lead.

The highway was mostly vacant of cars and everything seemed to be moving at a pleasant pace. Then, the water bottle between my legs overextended its welcome. And things went downhill from there.

I chose to relocate the bottle to a more fitting place–– the vehicle’s drink holder. However, the space was taken… by a paper Dixie cup which was filled to only one-fifth of its capacity. Though the cup only held water, I couldn’t discard the substance onto the floor of the vehicle–– it was my future mother-in-law’s. So, in an innocent act of riddance, I tossed the water–– not the cup–– out the window.

Approximately 60 seconds later, as I went to exit I-580, I glanced left to see a swerving red Ford Explorer. The operator of the vehicle was as red as the vehicle he was operating. Veins popping, spit flying–– the man was filled with rage. Though he appeared to be screaming at the top of his lungs, I was unable to hear what he was saying. All I could extract from his furious monologue was by means of lipreading. And none of my extractions are appropriate for your eyes to read.

Confused and alarmed, I began to cycle through my last few moments on the road. Did I cut him off? Perhaps I failed to use my blinker? Or he hated Arizona and was upset at me for driving a car with Arizona plates?

None of the above. Still raging 20 seconds later, the man picked up a water bottle which was identical to mine and began to point at it aggressively. Suddenly, after 20 seconds of utter confusion, the lights went on. My few ounces of water hit the red Explorer. So, just to put him at rest, I picked up my water bottle, pointed at it, nodded my head, and said, “Yes, it was water.” However, this brought an opposite effect than what I had anticipated.

Now, with freshly-stimulated anger, the man–– who, at this point, I realized was a soldier–– continued to yell, shaking his head, fists, and water bottle erratically. He lifted his sunglasses to look me in the eye and pointed his finger at me, dispensing expletives from his mouth liberally.

By now, I had become nervous. But the exit ramp just ahead seemed to be my tangible hope in the moment. So, on I drove, employing a certain kind of tunnel vision.

Now on the exit ramp, I sighed with relief and reached for the odious water bottle which again sat between my legs–– my hands shaking with nerves. I relaxed too soon, however. Just feet behind the silver Toyota Corolla I drove was a red Ford Explorer with a military man at the wheel. I nearly went into cardiac arrest.

For a moment, being the extreme optimist that I am, I thought that I was being followed, perhaps, by coincidence. (Perhaps the soldier was paying a visit to John Madden).

I watched the man like a hawk as I drove toward my destination. He made each turn I made, still following closely behind. Extremely closely.

When I came to a halt at the neighborhood’s entry, the red Explorer stopped just behind me. I turned to the neighborhood’s gate attendant and said, shakily, “Klosterman. And the man behind me is crazy. Please don’t let him in. I think I cut him off and he’s been tailgating me for miles and––”

I was cut off. “WHAT THE *#$@?!?!” The raging soldier now stood at my door, between me and the gate attendant.

He continued, “WHAT THE *#$@ WAS THAT ABOUT?”

Appearing to be composed, I responded, “Sir, it was water. I tossed water out the window.”

“Oh yeah? And HOW THE *#$@ DO I KNOW THAT?!?! Huh?!?!” The soldier now stood with his arms crossed and foot tapping.

“Sir, I took water from this cup and threw it out the window so I could use my drink holder.”

“BULL $#*@! That looked an awful lot like hydrochloric acid, son! How do I know that wasn’t acid?”

I exhaled deeply and responded, “Because, sir, I don’t drive down the road and throw hydrochloric acid out the window. I just––”

“Let me see that cup. Give me that cup!” he interjected.

Graciously, I handed him the cup.

He held it up to his nose, inhaled, and grunted.

“Are you familiar with California driving laws, young man?”

“No, I––”

“California driving law number 109 states that ANYTHING which is ejected from a vehicle is considered a projectile. Ok?”

“I–– I’m sorry. I just wanted to use the drink holder. I–– I’m really sorry. It was just water.”

“This is the sort of thing that starts a fight, young man,” he said, in a very matter of fact manner. “If I weren’t under oath,” he continued, raising his voice, “we would be in a fight right now. In a bloody fight!”

“_______,” I responded.

“You’re lucky, young man. If this happened to anyone else, you could very well have been beaten up by now.”

“Okay,” I said, with as much defiance as I could muster up.

“How old are you?”

“21. I’m 21.”

“21? You’ve got a lot to learn, young man.”

Mouth open, I let out a faint sigh.

Soldier Koo (his name was displayed on his uniform) then turned to the gate attendant and said, “Sir, thank you for standing by for all of this,” and marched off. The gate attendant, in shock, looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and opened the gate.

For over an hour, I couldn’t believe the situation that just took place.

And, after processing it all, I had one regret: I wish I would have plowed through the gate and into John Madden’s driveway for the confrontation, only to hear his color commentary on the action.

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