“Will you marry me?”
 
As far as grammar goes, it’s a simple “Yes/No Question”.   
 
But, “in matters of the heart”, the effects and ramifications of this little question – are anything but simple.
 
It was at the stroke of midnight that this question - and its answer – was my sole priority.   
 
While revelers around the globe rang in the New Year, my task was simple.  My thoughts were focused.  My emotions were a mess.  As the “ball dropped” in New York City; and one calendar year flipped to the next; I was poised to “pop the question”.    
 
In the beginning “seconds” of the year 1987, I longed to hear one word from my girlfriend Lisa.
 
After three years of friendship, thousands of miles of distance, and a ton of wishfulness, I had found "the one".  I was “in love” and I was more than ready. 
 
Within a matter of seconds, as Lisa said, “Yes”, she shifted from being my girlfriend - to being my fiancé.  In that moment, we agreed to become “engaged”.  Like gears in an automobile’s transmission, we were now supposed to be in-sync.  Mesh.  But, let’s be honest, I did not recognize, nor was I prepared for the “engage” part of this season called “engagement”.   
 
Looking back, I am so thankful for God’s “six-month premarital workshop”.  But on January 1, 1987 – when Lisa enthusiastically said, “Yes!” - I sure didn’t see what was coming.  ​

​Mt. Shasta stood like a quiet sentinel - dominating the eastern horizon. 
 
The mountain was majestic – draped with white snow - in vivid contrast to the late afternoon sky of early summer.  The view was spectacular.  On any other day, it would have been “a photo-op waiting to happen”, but not on this day. 

​I was preoccupied with a payphone.  It was 50 miles south of the Oregon border, at a rest area just north of Mt. Shasta, California.  Vehicles whizzed by as they picked up downhill speed on Interstate-5.  But, my vehicle was not moving.  It was stopped.  More accurately, it was cooling off.  And, Los Angeles was still 600 miles away.

​The phone call was to my girlfriend, Lisa.  As she answered the phone, I had three minutes to blurt out my plight.  There was no preamble. The message was straight and to the point.  “Lisa, pray.  Something’s wrong with the Horizon.”

Forty-five months after our first motorcycle ride in August of 1983, Lisa and I took another memorable ride on June 27, 1987. 

This time, Lisa was in her wedding dress, and I was in a tux.

​22 months! 
 
The motorcycle did not move for twenty-two months.  It was dormant: parked, winterized - and covered with a tarp – in southern California. 
 
Labor Day 1984 was the last time that I had ridden my bike.   
 
In my wildest dreams, I never thought that it would be nearly two years before I would see the bike again. 
 
God had a plan, though.  He was to use that PARKED motorcycle in a remarkable way.  

​Something changed! 
 
Motorcycles were NOT part of my world growing up.  Never drove one.  Rode one once!  Yet, for a 10-year stretch, from 1976 to 1986, that’s all I owned.
 
At the age of 22, something happened!
 
And for the next ten years, God used a motorcycle to shape me in some powerful ways. 
 
Now, before I start “coloring-in” the essentials of this story, I need to back up just a bit.  While I have told lots of stories so far, my focus hasn’t been on being 100% chronological.  For the purpose and flow of each story, I’ve only included pertinent details.  So, when it comes to “our love story as a couple”, some “pieces to the puzzle” have been notably missing – until now.   And, I am fairly certain that without these “pieces”, the ending would NOT have been the same.   
 
Strap on your helmet.  Let’s see how “God used a motorcycle” to bring us together.

We are taking a slight detour this time, but not really.  The focus is going to be on my wife and best friend, Lisa.  I am thankful for her.  She is a woman of faith, conviction, and character.  And, I dearly love her.  This is one of her faith adventures. 
 
The year is 1984.  It had been 15 months since my path first crossed with Lisa’s in June 1983 – with the infamous “Phone Call”.  If you recall from a previous post, the phone call came from Lisa when she was a recruiter who screened and sent English teachers to China. I was one of them.  There are still three more years before our paths truly merge.  Even though we are not married at the time of this story, “the recruiter’s dilemma” has become an important marker in our journey as a couple. 
 
It encourages us each time we tell it. We hope it encourages you, as well.

​The recruiter was in agony. 
 
She had been for weeks.    It was a quandary - a dilemma.  As she prayed, she searched her soul.  “God what do you want me to do?”  As a recruiter, she had a spot to fill.  As part of her job, she did this all the time.  But, this time – was different.  The decision didn’t affect others. The airline ticket to China was not for someone else.  This time - it was for her. 
 
The decision couldn’t be put off any longer.  It was time to decide.  Was it “go, or no go?”

I needed a bridge – and, I didn’t even know it.
 
Growing up, I didn’t have any sisters.  Twenty years had drifted past since I last lived with my only brother.  I was twelve when he left home to join the navy.  So during my teens, I pretty much functioned as an only child.  For six years, day-to-day interaction at home was between three people: my mom, dad, and me.  Conversations had few interruptions. Drama was low-key.  Interactions were straightforward, and for the most part, life was predictable.
 
On top of this, it had been eight years since I had last lived at home with my parents.
 
So, in 1985, at the age of 31, I was a bit rusty with this thing called “family living”.  Oh, I had had lots of roommates, and lots of chances for kerfuffles.  I had participated in a fair number of simulated family and group home settings.  But, I was “less than current” on the intricacies of negotiating family dynamics - day in and day out.

​Within a six-month period, my life had swung from a season of incredible highs, to a stretch of discombobulating lows.  But, it was within this swing of the pendulum that God taught me a valuable lesson about “seeing layers in life”. 

The Mountain
 
It started high in the Himalayas. 
 
Long before I even knew what a "bucket list" was, this certainly qualified to be on any list of mine.
 
Near the end of June 1985, I had just finished my teaching contract at a university in southern China.  I had a fist-full of renminbi, which I had been accumulating for well over a year.  And since the currency was only recognized within China, I had to spend it, or lose it.  So, I decided to head to the interior of China; wander with a backpack; see sights; take pictures; and go until I ran out of cash. 
 
It was a bohemian’s dream. 
 
Yet, for me, I wasn’t really being bohemian.  I was just being me.  It made practical sense to see things while I was there.  I had an opportunity for some “hands-on” learning of Chinese geography, culture, and history.  I just had to do it.  There was no way that I could not.  So, off I went - alone and without much of a planned itinerary.  I did what was starting to become a natural reaction.  I headed west. 
 
And in the process, I ended up in Tibet.