Mela Kamin – 4:10 Ministries

The Proposal (in the interest of full disclosure – I always wanted to say that – this post is LONG, but if you make it through, there’s a sweet giveaway you could win!)
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GIVEAWAY UPDATEUsing random.org, the comment selected was #1 – so Michelle M., who was the first to comment – over on Facebook – was chosen as the winner of the giveaway – congrats, Michelle! I’ll be sending you the book this week – enjoy!
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I love hearing engagement stories because often, they are romantic, they share a glimpse of a relationship, personal tastes and let you in on someone else’s life and story.
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This is my story – our story
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Today, I share it, because 13 years ago, he asked. I also share it because some days the fairy tale seems far away. Hurt feelings and misunderstandings cloud my memory of the good and the sweet.
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It’s always fun to remember, but especially on days when I don’t think he’s particularly generous or considerate – that on THAT day – that very important, life-defining day – he WAS.
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It was a Saturday in Venice, California. We had planned this trip to San Francisco for weeks. Greg was living in Venice at the time, working in the famed Frank Gehry binocular building for the renown ad agency Chiat/Day. I was living in L.A., doing PR for Sony PlayStation through its agency Fleishman-Hillard.
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I had never been in northern California and Greg knew how much I would love it. He had been there a few months earlier with our college friend/his roommate, Jeff. On that trip, Greg spied a spot he knew would be perfect.
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The morning of our trip, I woke up sick – sore throat, headache and general grumpiness. When I got to his apartment, I told him we probably shouldn’t go. He was less than pleased. He grabbed me some DayQuil and tried to convince me I’d feel better soon. I thought we could just postpone the trip until I felt better. He didn’t.
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For moral support and back-up, I called in the big guns … my Mom. I phoned my Mother more than 2,000 miles away in Wisconsin, so that she could tell me it was okay to cancel the trip.
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She told me to go.
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She told me to go? Yes. She said I’d be fine, to take some medicine and enjoy the trip.
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Who was this imposter posing as my sweet Mother?
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I called expecting her to let me off the hook and she tells me to go? What sick, twisted world had I woken up to?
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So, after some whining, I begrudgingly went along, tired, extra cranky now and dragging my feet, both figuratively and literally.
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I remember Greg telling me we were going to miss our train if I didn’t hurry up. I wasn’t particularly thrilled with his tone. I also wasn’t motivated to move faster; in fact, I may have moved slightly slower on purpose. I’m stubborn like that.
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We made it to the Amtrak station with just minutes to spare. We settled into our coast-side, private car and were on our way.
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Greg brought along snacks, drink and some music (on a portable CD player). I had my DayQuil and my attitude. We rolled along watching the gorgeous Pacific whiz past.
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My tiredness mixed with the medicine made for naptime. I’m not sure how long I was out, but I was missing the trip.
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Did I notice that the music playing was a mix of my favorite songs – of our favorite songs? No. Did I see the snacks, drinks, magazines and little extras he brought that were picked out with me in mind? Sadly – no.
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I was barely feeling up to dinner, so I ate a few bites of the probably-delicious Salmon, and returned to our car to sleep. The whole trip there was a blur, not just because we were zipping along the California coastline and ocean, but because I was out of it.
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We arrived late, grabbed a taxi and were dropped off at the Mark Hopkins Intercontinental Hotel on Nob Hill. It’s one of the best and most beautiful hotels in San Francisco with breathtaking views. The rooms are grand and gorgeous with dark cherry furnishings and warm walls.
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There were flowers on the desk when we arrived. I may have commented on their beauty before going to bed – I can’t recall.
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Did you catch that?
He had arranged to have flowers there when we arrived.
The card read …
Red roses because I love you.
Pink roses because I think you’re beautiful.
Yellow roses because I thank God for you.
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The next day, I awoke feeling only slightly better. We saw some of the quintessential San Fran sites – Fisherman’s Wharf, Pier 39, Coit Tower, the trolleys and the Golden Gate.

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I remember still being tired, feeling rather ugly and still very much crabby. My hair wasn’t working, I was having a hard time swallowing and I just wasn’t feeling like me.
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There was plenty of day left and lots more city to see, but we instead returned to the hotel so I could rest. I know – lame!
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But I didn’t know.
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When I got up, he asked me if I wanted to go dancing. I said No.
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Let me repeat that: I said No. This is coming from someone who repeatedly asked her boyfriend to go with her to dance lessons. He wouldn’t – too uncomfortable. But, he had researched a great swing dancing spot and I still said No.
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I rested up some more for dinner, the part of Greg’s itinerary I promised we’d follow through on. Luckily, for packing purposes, he had told me I’d need a nice dress, since we’d be eating out at a fancy restaurant. I had a long black, sleeveless dress with little white flowers on the top.
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I was in the bathroom, trying to do something – anything to my hair, which was being awfully uncooperative. I finally decided just to put it up and be done.
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Greg knocked on the door, asking me to help him with his tie. I think I rolled my eyes. I opened the door to find him wearing a tuxedo and a very big smile.
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I looked at him kind of sideways and strange and walked. right. by. I was still focused on myself and feeling out of sorts.
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I still didn’t know.
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When I later asked about the tux, he mumbled something about it being one year ago that I moved out to California to join him. We were celebrating that. It was, in fact, exactly a year to the day, and so, that was that.
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I still didn’t know.
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We went to dinner at Postrio, Wolfgang Puck’s restaurant on Post & 3rd St. The dinner was delicious and we had a yummy pie-like dessert with an almond biscotti crust.
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All through dinner, Greg was holding a medium-sized brown, paper sack. I asked him several times what was in the bag. He wouldn’t tell me – he said he’d show me later. I was intrigued, but …
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I still didn’t know.
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After dinner, we took a cab to the Palace of Fine Arts. I was completely mesmerized by the view. We hopped out and started walking down the grass to the sidewalk. It was so beautiful – so picture worthy … and that’s when I remembered …
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my camera was in my purse – in the back of the taxi – that JUST DROVE AWAY!
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Greg sprung into action and took off running down the street, jumping over a bush and turning down another street … in dress shoes and a tux. I kid you not – he ran several blocks in a heavily-cab-infested area – and found the exact one we were in. He stopped the driver and my purse and camera were still there. He returned very happy, slightly disheveled and completely out of breath.
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I was oblivious to what a major inconvenience that was to his plan, but he never let on and he never made me feel bad about it.
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We sat down on a park bench and enjoyed the view. The Palace of Fine Arts is stunning – old, historic, massive and magical. I was blown away. Swans swam by, in the lagoon, just as the sun was setting. It was straight out of a storybook.
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That’s when he pulled out the bag and asked me to open it.
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The package had a bit of heft to it and felt like a book. It was.
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It was our book – Advertising Media Planning – the textbook from the journalism class we met in at college.
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A year before, when I moved out to California, I wrote in the front cover how I felt about Greg. I knew at that moment he had written something to me. I was excited to see what it was. He wrote beautiful words, pledging his love to me.
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I was surprised, delighted, moved and felt very loved …
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But, I still. didn’t. know.
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I closed the book and gave him a kiss and hug. That’s when he told me there was more. It may have been the DayQuil, but I was thoroughly confused.
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He asked me to continue through the book. I couldn’t imagine why. I slowly flipped the pages, trying to figure out what was next. I turned to the last chapter in the Table of Contents – The Future – and that’s when I finally knew.
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He had meticulously hollowed out the book to fit a small, black, velvet box. He took out the box, sunk to one knee, opened the box and through tears, asked me to marry him.
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In that moment, I was shocked and filled both with excitement for the future and regret for being sick and crabby.
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I didn’t know, but now I did.
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And, it all made sense …
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Why my Mom told me to go on the trip – SHE KNEW
Why he didn’t want us to be late – HE HAD A PLAN
Why the soundtrack on the train – TO SET THE MOOD
Why there were flowers in the room – TO SET THE STAGE
Why the tux – THE COSTUME TO DEFINE THE MOMENT
Why the big package – TO KEEP ME GUESSING
Why the book – TO WRITE OUR STORY
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I trembled, I cried, I smiled … I said YES!
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As passersby clapped and cheered, Greg slipped the ring on my finger and we laughed about the events leading up to this moment.
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We went back to the hotel, which I now saw in a new light. The flowers – I now stopped to smell them and re-read the card. We called our parents, who were all home, praying and waiting, knowing this evening would be like no other.
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Oh, they had NO idea.
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What I cherish about this day’s memory with its crazy antics and my attitude throwing a wrench in his beautiful itinerary, is that he thought about it – he REALLY thought about it.
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Sure, he could’ve said, “Hey you wanna get married?” as we were walking down the boardwalk in Venice. But he didn’t just think about the asking – he thought about how it would look, sound, smell, taste and feel to be asked.
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As an added bonus, when we talked to my parents, I found out that not only did Greg ask for their permission, but he Fed-Ex’d them a video of him asking for their blessing (since we were 2,000 miles away). When a phone call would have done the job, he thought about how my parents would feel seeing his face, asking them.
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He let me see the video, where he sat in a Santa Monica park on a day when I thought he was working, and videotaped himself talking to my parents. He told them of his plan to surprise me and asked them for their blessing.
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He didn’t have to and I still would’ve said yes. He didn’t have to because my parents were already crazy about him and would still have been happy.
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But he asked, he took the time – in fact, he sat for hours, doing take after take, trying to say the right words, while dogs, runners and loud cars messed up the video. We watched the outtakes – the times he flubbed his “lines,” got frustrated with the sun, or the noisy traffic and dogs … watched as he put his effort, his love for me and my parents – his whole heart onto film.
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I didn’t know … and I’m SO glad.
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Whew! If you read this far, let me first congratulate you and now ask you to stand and stretch your legs. I don’t want to be responsible for eye or leg strain.
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Now it’s your turn. Do you have a memorable engagement story or a trip that didn’t go as planned? Leave a comment, tweet or Facebook this post and you will be entered in a giveway. One person will be randomly selected to receive this great book Plan B by Pete Wilson, a Pastor at CrossPoint Church in Nashville. I think it’s fitting since Greg’s plans certainly didn’t turn out how he thought they would. You have until midnight (CST) on Friday, August 6th, 2010 to enter.
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Pete’s book, Plan B – What Do You Do When God Doesn’t Show Up the Way You Thought He Would?, is awesome and filled with great Biblical wisdom. I guarantee you will find something in it that really speaks to where you’re at. I read through it in two sittings. I was so taken with the information and how he presents it, I bought an extra copy to give away to a lucky one of you!