Part 9: Leaving on a Jet Plane

This post is a continuation of my Germany Chronicles series.  Please click the link above to read the first 8 parts.


He was still the blue-eyed blonde I had left last summer. But something was different. We had a history this time. A long, detailed history...

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Over the time that Matthias and his German buddies were in Houston, I was consistently busy trying to balance the time spent with them and my other responsibilities, mainly swimming. Because it was summer, I was doomed to awaken before the sun even rose to endure the torture of the lukewarm 50-meter pool. Swimming in the early mornings while watching the sun rise. It definitely sounds more romantic than the actual reality of the sun glaring into your eyes every time you turn your head to breathe. How annoying!

But during these mundane practices, I was fighting an emotional turmoil. With several hours to ponder the complexities of my "relationship" with Matthias each morning, swimming was generally the last thing on my mind. Swimming is a sport that doesn't quite completely takeover your thoughts, or at least it never took mine. Maybe that's why I never really advanced as far as I should have. I had the potential. I just never took the initiative to acquire those goals. Shame on me.

[What was I talking about? Matthias...yes, I remember now!]

During these few weeks with Matthias in person, there were a couple of opportunities for us to be together. I have to admit that I maybe kind-of skipped a couple of swim practices in order to participate in different service activities.

While their team of people was here, there was a certain organization to the madness. Because of the number of participants who turned out to help on certain days, we were split into several groups. My two other sisters were in a different group than myself.  It was strange how these things were decided. I learned later that because my family was hosting 2 girls, my sisters were paired with them and other host/hostee pairs. I was placed in a group consisting of my past team members with German teenagers that I already knew from the previous summer. Coincidence? I think not.

Regardless of the way we were split, Matthias and I were able to spend some together with other mutual friends. I remember one day in particular.

We had traveled to a nearby apartment community to reach out to the children and minister to them. Matthias ended up playing basketball on the courts, whereas I was playing different games in an area closeby. On this particular afternoon, Matthias twisted his ankle. Good thing I was there to take care of him!

In a matter of a few minutes, I had convinced myself that if I took care of his ankle, he would maybe see how much potential I had. By potential, I seriously mean "wife material". I wanted to prove my capacity for caring for him in a way that no one else possibly could. By this point in their trip, it was pretty obvious to other people that there was "something" going on between the two of us. I didn't try to hide it. I had been trying to "mark my territory" the entire time.

I'm fully aware I'm not a dog, but there were serious threats coming from fellow American girls, girls who were able to be at the different events quite a bit more than me. My thoughts towards these other girls went along the lines of "Did you go to Germany last summer? NO. Did you meet him and then write letters back and forth for a year? NO. Did you receive the best birthday present ever from him? NO. BACK OFF."
Now, I never actually said these things out loud...but let's be honest. I'm quite embarrassed to see how I treated the whole situation in my head. My heart couldn't handle losing him again - let alone to someone who was not as committed as I was already.

All these girls wanted was a "summer fling". Okay, so the accents make you melt, I admit. I will also own up to the appeal of being with a foreign guy. I met him innocently one afternoon with no intention of ever making it as far as we had come. I never intended to fall in love. I never wanted to have to "slow things down" from across an ocean. But it happened. And I wouldn't have changed it for the world.

During his stateside visit, Matthias and I made a point to spend some time alone. We had things to talk about. Through the last year, I had kept asking him what we were considered. His response? "We are just friends for now. Let's get to know each other better before we commit to being more."

Yes, logically, it made sense. My heart didn't want it to be that easy. So, my heart and my head were saying completely different things.

Over the last year, my dad had talked to me on several different occasions about my feelings for this man. During one intense conversation, he wanted me to seriously consider the possibilty of moving to Germany to be with this man. Gulp. Move halfway around the world? Learn a new language? Live there for the rest of my human life?

I was ready to commit.

But it was more complicated. It always is, right?

For starters, I still had another year of high school. And he was about to move to New York in the fall to work with an inner-city ministry there.

When we ever-so-quietly snuck away to have time alone, we discussed the details of what we were. I desperately wanted him to go ahead and commit. I wanted to be his girlfriend. I wanted to start heading in the "official title" direction. You know...girlfriend, fiance, wife.

My deepest fears became a reality: more waiting.

But wasn't it him who had mentioned something his father had once told him? "The three most important things in life are to find God, find a good job, and find someone to spend your life with. You already have the first thing. You already know what the second one is, and now you just have to find that third thing."

The suggestiveness of him saying this wisdom to me was enough to make me believe he was committing to me. In my head, that was him saying that I was the one. Right? I convinced myself that it meant one day, I would be his wife.

How absolutely bold and foolish of me. 

The time came for our German partners to leave. It was a cloudy, dreary day. And the weather could not have matched my mood more perfectly.

Memories of the last few weeks flooded my mind. I couldn't stop picturing the way his face lit up when he stepped off the elevator that first day and saw me. I couldn't get the feeling of holding his hand (interdigitated, might I add) for the first time that fateful afternoon when he twisted his ankle. The afternoon he spent with my family at our neighborhood pool. The trip to New Braunfels and Austin to see the Capital of Texas. And then the discussions that we had which ultimately meant more waiting.

I was an emotional mess. I was in love and having to leave my man for the second time. At this point, we had spent maybe 2.5 total weeks together physically. My heart was acting as if it couldn't find a rhythm. Surely someone had ripped it out in the last days and attempted to put it back in, good as new.

Before we left to take our two hostee girls to the airport, I wrote Matthias a letter. He was instructed to not open it until he got on the plane. I couldn't bear to have him read it in front of me.

Once my family arrived to the airport, I bolted out of the car into the terminal and found him immediately. I handed him my note. They checked into their flight, and left to go find their gate. I watched as he rode up the escalator to pass through security. When he approached the top, he turned around and paused. I waved. And then he disappeared.

My heart was in his hands. [Literally. Remember that note? I wrote to him that I loved him.]

I was so afraid of losing him.
Soon after he disappeared to finish his journey stateside, my face was buried into my dad's chest. Surely true love never really felt like this.
 
My heart couldn't be ripped out many more times and still survive intact.