Ever find yourself scared to believe in something? I watch a lot of "Frasier" and "The Nanny..." and nothing right ever happens to them. (Well, Fran ended up with Mr. Sheffield, but that took years.) Maybe that's skewed my perspective on hope.
And then along came Gimli.
He's like...no one.
When I got back from my summer in The Big City, Gimli showed up at my Bible study. I didn't give him much individual attention; he was some guy who had come in quietly, and I wasn't looking. It was nice to have him as part of our group, but I was really done with guys.
After listening to his comments at study for a few weeks, I started to realize that this guy thought before he spoke--and when he spoke, he was worth listening to. He was knowledgeable but only shared if he thought it would benefit the group--not to prove what he knew. When we started planning a group movie night, I realized how important it was for me to have him there. During the planning, we mentioned upcoming local football games. The next day, I found a message from Gimli in which he asked me to one of the games. I wrote back that I really wanted to go watch my students play that night, and that he was welcome to join me. I cautioned him that my students, their parents, and my coworkers would all be watching us and surmising things. He commented on how that was such a stellar invite--then asked when we should meet. Thus, things started.
I can't even go into everything--how sweet he's been--but he's made me feel cherished in so many ways. He's done normal things like repot plants with me and hang pictures in my new apartment for me. We've taken our friends' young son to a movie together and curled up under blankets on a chilly hayride together. He's led Bible study for me on weeks when I've been too stressed and tired to do so, and when he does, his thoughts are interesting and show the depth of his spirit. His touch is gentle, his eyes are kind, and his grin when he looks at me makes him so adorable.
We were shopping together the other day, and I asked Gimli if he thought the baby we had passed a few aisles earlier had had white paint on his face. He said he didn't know, hadn't noticed. "I was probably looking at you then," he said. Cheesysweet. I laughed in delight at his wonderful cover-up line.
Delight. Not TV; delightful reality.
