Beginning with Zechariah
Let me introduce myself.
Up until last night I was Geoff’s girlfriend, Rebecca, destined to have her one shot at fame at posting on the Report as some kind of exciting unveiling of something in a poetic and literary manner. My one shot was reserved for a certain event and although I cannot claim to be expressing this poetically, I can say with a little pride and a hell (can I say that?) of a lot of excitement that I am posting what I am meant to be posting when I am meant to be posting… if that even works?
Today I am not his girlfriend, but I can claim the role of fiance.
Let me begin with Zechariah.
Zechariah was an old man with a nice, barren wife and choicy moment or few as a priest (however that all works again). Zechariah sucked at trusting and Zechariah had to wait, along with all that Zechariah was made to shut up for a very long time. Go and read it, Luke 1
Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.”
The angel answered, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their proper time.”
As it turns out, I became reacquainted with this silent priest yesterday morning and I spent a decent block of time thinking about Zechariah and thinking about what it means to trust, to wait and to have the unthinkable happen. My mind went off on some adventurous tangents about what it would mean to be silent for a good nine or possibly more months – which is kind of absolutely irrelevant to everything I have yet still to say, but regardless, I was enjoying myself (rare as it might be when it comes to the period of time when I’ve just woken up).
Zechariah had just become reacquainted with his vocal chords and hence possibly his livelihood along with a son when I got a phone call.
It was Geoff.
To quote my friend Jess (who happened to be sleeping in our lounge room), “An obscure phone-call has us planning your bridesmaids!” So my housemate got the giggles and I had this half nervous, half excited thing going on. I don’t think I knew what to do at all.
“Wouldn’t it be shocking if he made you wait through church” (Isobelle)
He made me wait through church. He had to wait through my curious and speculating looks.
The stunning irony: the sermon was on, “In the Meantime”. Wait. Zechariah. Wait. Trust.
We drove for lunch to the Stonehouse Cafe. Site of the first date. We sat one table over from where we should have. And I should possibly not remember details like this, but we sat at table 11 (Here’s where you go awww and/or vomit).
I ate lunch pretty quickly.
To shorten things a little, we wound up driving out towards Marysville. I was fairly confident he had listened to my, “I hate cliches” rant and wouldn’t ask a certain question at Steavenson’s Falls. He didn’t. I was delighted.
I’m not sure if I should be overly pleased with the next bit, theoretically making your girlfriend walk 4km – the first kilometre being utterly horrendous – isn’t actually all that romantic. But to slap a sharp dose of reality and dare I call it symbolism, it was pretty well perfect. I spent a good bit of it (Being too out of breath to talk) thinking about how I might just perhaps look back on the ‘climb’ as a bit of a parallel to life… and hey lets be honest, marriage.
Having lived any time at all in the ‘real world’ you might know that all things don’t go perfectly to plan. We had wait once we’d reached the top – the top being the remote and beautiful Keppel’s lookout – for Geoff’s brother Mark and sister Anita (and their respective partners, Stuart and Robyn). It was pretty cold. They took an extra twenty minutes, after getting lost and accosting a local. They arrived with the largest of smiles and shoved us to wait in the car while they went and set things up.
It’s funny. You’d almost think that without a doubt, that the absolute best of things about getting engaged is the moment you say yes. Yes, but. That fifteen minutes in the car was when it all it hit home. She who doesn’t cry cried. He who does cry, cried. It was good. It was real. God was there. It was perfect. It was damn exciting.
The set-up ensured three things. Hot dinner. Candles. And the scaring off of tourists. I confess I don’t really feel all that sorry for the Swedish couple that spent two hours getting to the lookout they spent two minutes at.
We ate. Geoff had cooked it the day before. It was nice. It was hot. We ate fast.
…and the champagne bottle half exploded.
After dinner he told me to sit up on the seat, here’s me mostly thinking we were going to go for the desert and the next thing I realised is that he was on one knee.
I said, “Yes!” and started laughing.
How very worth the wait.
By way of conclusion:
Chris once said that if Geoff and I ever got married that we’d change the world. I am in doubt of that kind of magnitude, but I’d like to think that together we’ll manage to do something in some way that impacts the people within arms reach. Geoff is the kindest and most honest guy that I know, he has such a massive heart for others and the courage to match it. God has done something truly remarkable in bringing us together. I’d never assumed the kind of guy I’d marry but I did know that he’d have to be pretty amazing. And now I’m here. He’s here. We’re here. And it’s very good.
To read Geoff’s perspective go here…
More photos coming later.