Tonight, I asked Emily Anne to be my wife.
This writing is saved in a folder titled “Hope,” created shortly after my first date with Electric Emily in September. (The song “Electric Emily” was penned while driving up to the U.P. immediately after our second date. I knew there was something special about her before she even said a word to me).
Tonight, I stopped in at my house to pick up the ring and iron out some last minute details before picking her up.
Opening the ring case, I felt moved to fall to my knees.
There were words, a simple moment of thanks and gratitude to God for this woman and the confirmation of the Spirit on our lives together. With her tireless love, this woman has completely captured my heart.
As usual, I picked her up in the (extraordinarily loud) maroon ’98 Saturn, trying to play it cool, while paranoia of strange acting left me overanalyzing every move. We talked about our days as we drove a mile downtown and left the car in the ramp.
During our half-mile walk to the Grand Rapids Art Museum (GRAM), I kept trying to keep cool, yet knowing internally that the next twenty minutes would change our lives forever.
We arrived, gave our free tickets to the receptionist and stood on an elevator to the third floor. (The hook to bring Emily to the museum was a Rembrandt showing on the life of Christ). While I told her the exhibit was on the third floor, the sign clearly read: “3rd Floor: Permanent collection.”
She’s quick; I think I’m busted.
It was one of those elevator trips you think will never end.
We arrive on the third floor and I begin scanning the ground for people.
Inside my head: “These people have to go. Could I ask them to leave?”
Walking around and furiously looking for plan B, the security guard caught wind I was in the house and moved people out of gallery seven on the other end. Emily and I walked around and ended up standing in front of the freight elevator, clearly marked for employees only.
I pushed the button.
“What are you doing?” Emily asks. “I don’t think we can use that.”
The elevator is taking forever, so I respond, “We do what we want.”
Classic inside joke.
As soon as the freight elevator opens up, I dash inside, uncovering my guitar case under a moving blanket I’d placed there earlier. They told me I only had about 20 seconds to get it before I’d get stuck in the elevator, so I panicked and pull it directly through the legs of the ladder in the way.
Thankfully, as it’s about to close, Emily’s standing in the doorway.
(She always seems to have my back).
I look at her; she knows.
We’ve been planning our wedding since Valentine’s Day, a bit non-traditional, but time is ticking. Surprising her was going to be a challenge, but I think I succeed.
Nerves are kicking in, I don’t know what to say, as we walk in almost silence minus her comment, “What are you doing?” to gallery seven. It seems like a mile.
When we arrive, I look around the room and have her sit on the wooden bench. Fiddling around with the guitar case, shaking, I put it on and start thumbing through the pile of lyric sheets in the bottom of the case.
The first song I sing to her is, “Song for Her,” a song written nearly two years ago. It hadn’t been heard by a soul prior to recording it in the studio this week. It was a song I’d kept for the woman I would marry, written for Emily, as we’ve discovered so many songs have been over the years before we met.
Her tears begin to flow, triggering mine while I’m trying to play guitar and sing. The strap falls off; she helps put it back on during the song. (Again, she’s got my back).
After it’s finished, my knee hits the wooden floor and my left hand goes for my pocket. In a near whisper, I tell her numerous times, “You’ve stolen my heart,” as well as other words difficult to recall in the moment.
At the end, I ask her: “Will you marry me?” as I hold the ring in front of her.
“Yes,” she says.
I try to put it on. The ring is a bit tight. She quips, “Just shove it on there.”
We laugh through tears. It fits. It looks beautiful on her.
Tears flow; we embrace, kiss, love.
It felt as if the museum was still.
It was a sacred moment; reminiscent of the first time we spoke about marriage.
Following this, the next song I played was “Diamonds and Daises,” a new song that came to me after I found the ring. The lyrics read:
When the sun beats down on your finger, love
It reminds me of the light that you shine on me
When the daises smile on your finger, love
It reminds me of the garden that you saved for me
Singing, be my wife
Oh, be my life
Singing, take me in from the storm
And I’ll be your shelter
And I’ll keep you warm
And you’ll be my lover to the end of time
After that song, I played another new one for her called “The One,” written about our first “I love you” inside Tunnel Park, and the first time we talked about marriage on Valentine’s Day.
After the songs ended, people were allowed back into the space. We sat there in awe, soaking in the weight of the event and feeling “like a million bucks,” as Emily said. We embraced and talked and laughed and looked at her ring.
With too much excitement to look at the artwork (we’ll come back another time), we floated out of the museum and into the entryway outside. We asked multiple strangers to take photos of us; they offered congratulations and kindly obliged.
We ate dinner at XO, an Asian place across the street, telling stories of how smooth I wasn’t leading up to the proposal (she knew when I went ring shopping, when I talked to her Dad, etc.) as well as processing through the night.
Before dinner we prayed, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” It was a great time, fun to be out celebrating the next step in our journey.
Next, we walked back to our business downtown, where there’s a great couch and is generally quiet. We called our parents. There were a few additional songs I didn’t get a chance to sing at the museum, so we set up a video camera and retold the engagement story, playing through the songs from the night.
Hopefully, if we’re blessed with kids, they’ll appreciate the video.
The nightcap was a package, wrapped in the brown paper bag with a handwritten note on it. She opened it to reveal a case for a digital converter box, then uncovered the tissue paper to find a CD titled, “Songs for Her.”
It’s a CD recorded in the studio with all the songs I sang for her tonight, three of them written before we met, three after, but all for her.
We’ve seen God’s hand so strongly throughout this process. For me, music has been a vehicle of hope. There have been difficult years and amazing years of singleness, while many prayers by others and myself have been offered up for protection and provision for my future wife.
For Emily and I, it’s been a humbling experience to see all of these prayers answered in unbelievable ways. The strength of the Spirit over this relationship has been simply amazing. The depth of the lyrics written years ago and the relevancy to our situation can only be God.
She is an amazing woman; I’m humbled and honored that she will be my wife.
P.S. The wedding is July 31, 2009 (yes, this year), overlooking Lake Michigan. Here are a couple photos outside the GRAM.
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