The Most Unlikely Couple ~ Pt. IV ~ He begins to move

Welcome back. If you missed it, here are parts One, Two and Three. You'll most likely want to start at the beginning and work your way forward. But who am I to tell *you* how to live your life?

For those of you waiting to hear about Paul Tschida, hang in there. He's coming back. If you're reading this blog just to see your name, it's possible that will happen as well. I have a funny memory for details.

I was about this mature. And I still wear this jacket.

I'm not going to tell you much about the six months — from August, 2002 to February, 2003 — that Amy and I dated. We were a couple. And not always a successful one. Ever spend six months trying to put a square peg in a round hole? I hate geometry even more now. Amy was rather prim and proper during this period of her life. More so than she is now. More so by a factor of 5. She went to a church that was fairly prim and proper, Lakeview Covenant, up on the hill overlooking Lake Superior. People there wore ties to church and dresses. Not everybody, but enough to give it that feel that you probably should consider doing so yourself.

As the boyfriend, I figured it was my solemn duty to attend the church sometime. I was an affirmed Undecided on the topic of God. I was raised Catholic, but it never really took. Prior to meeting Amy, I had figured that someday, preferably when I had a Stage 5 cancer diagnosis, I would attend Mass again and be forgiven my sins. Within a few weeks of finally kissing the girl, I went with Amy to a Sunday service. A few guys from work, including Dave Nevanen and John Lundy, attended the same church, so it didn't feel terribly awkward. Still, I distinctly remember walking into the church and wondering if a lightning bolt was going to hit me. These are the things some Catholics think. At least, ones who don't get it. We sat in wooden pews. The music wasn't bad. The message was about how gated communities are not God's plan. They're not where Jesus would live. I can get behind that. The service ended, we left, and I was not hit with a bolt of electricity.

We went back. I wanted to go back. It was kind of fun. But I was skeptical about the whole church thing. Let's just say Christians hadn't made the best impression on me. I was unwittingly lumping Christians all in one basket. If one acts like a hypocrite, they must all act like hypocrites. I was also confusing religion with faith. Two very different things. But that's for another time.

I'm going here in a few minutes. The town.

Amy, God bless her, kept going around and around with me on the issue of church. In one late-night phone call, she laid out the principals of Christianity in the most eloquent way I have ever heard (and she does not remember saying this): 1. Do you believe Jesus walked the Earth? 2. Do you believe he was the son of God? 3. Do you believe he died for your sins? Christians answer yes to all three questions. As did I, the recovering Catholic. "I'm not ready to commit to anything," I famously told her on a late Saturday night phone call.

The next morning, I went to Lakeview Covenant by myself. I sat by myself, toward the back of course. I sang all the songs and watched Pastor Kevin head up to the stage. And then the screen lit up: Today's topic is "Commit to God."

There are those who would call this a coincidence. I am not one of those people. I still carry the "Get Committed" card from that day folded in my wallet. That was the day I gave in. Yes, I'm a Christian. Unbeknown to me, Amy had friends praying for me. Sarah Murphy and Brennan Murphy, two of my best Internet friends, among them. See? I told you I'd work in some names. But all the prayer in the world wasn't going to save Amy's and my relationship.

We went to a wedding in Fargo. Yes, that Fargo. Or, I thought it was in Fargo. The map I had to the wedding showed it was three exits north of the city. There was contention in the air the whole way over from Duluth. Snippy comments about what I was wearing. Where we were eating. How little sleep we had. After four hours, we got to the hotel. I flipped on a University of Minnesota basketball game. Unacceptable. The TV can not be on unless you have something specific you have to watch. We kept quarreling. I hated her chosen profession at the moment. I took shots at her for not having a career. We barreled into the car. We started driving north on I-29. And, after about five minutes I realized the wedding, which started in 10 minutes, was in Grand Forks. That's an hour up the road. Finally. That broke the ice a little and we could laugh. But for six hours my blood pressure was off the charts. As was Amy's.

It was unsustainable. By February of 2003, we had spent six months trying to make our relationship work. It wouldn't. She was too uptight. She was fun for about 5 minutes a day. I was immature. I'm not saying that because I have to. I put my shoes on without untieing them. I still often do that. But I realize it's wrong now. We were just hobbling along as a couple. We were OK together. But we weren't great.

The breakup began, conveniently, during a shift at work. It was completed the next morning. Not bloody enough? Wait until I get to the Best Breakup Story I Have. It happened on my birthday. In the middle of a play. Phantom of the Opera. She was a returned Mormon missionary. Go figure.

Read about it here in Part Five.