I'm slowly moving this forward.  The next saga in my life involves being a Senior Editor over at EvangelicalOutpost.com, which is a great opportunity since Joe Carter has run one of the best blogs anywhere there the last five years.  So editing this thing has proved (once again!) more challenging than I thought it would be.

But now we get to the payoff:  I feel like the rest is simply a set up for the next few chapters, where I try to articulate how integrating our lives around the Gospel actually affects the decisions that young people make with respect to romance.  To the next stage, then....

We sat oblivious to everything around us, attempting to muffle our laughter-and failing miserably. Without warning, a piercing "Shhhhhhhhh!" of an aspiring academic rained down on us from the balcony above, but only with a momentary effect. Propriety can only survive so long in the face of humor, and the reproving "shhhh" only made us laugh harder. Though neither of us knew it at the time, she would eventually become my wife.

That season of our lives was marked by numerous conversations about the future, academics, and the way God moves through prayer. Schoolwork would occasionally intrude on our mirthful banter, but only briefly. Such interludes would be spent reading, only providing us more material to talk about-we had nearly the same schedule. We preferred to talk, especially with each other. Journeying into the unknown reaches of the academic universe together provided thrills for us both that we have never forgotten.

We were not yet lovers, at least not officially. I had been interested in her for some time, but her feelings were mostly unknown to me. Behind every smile and laugh was an impenetrable mystery: what did she really think about me? I was in many ways terrified of either possible answer to the question. We were living under the guise that we were "just friends," but in reality there was an additional element that lived beneath the surface of her consciousness. If she was attracted to me, then I knew the relationship had to progress into romance, or end. But if she wasn't interested, well, that would hurt. Either way we were cruising toward the inevitable "Define the Relationship" talk.

For my (now) wife, this was new territory. I was the first man she had gotten close to in college. For me, it was an opportunity to demonstrate how much I had learned from previous failures. I was intent on "doing it right this time," including the "Define the Relationship." Not surprisingly, it didn't take long for my high hopes for the perfect relationship to be mercilessly crushed. The day after my wife and I had our "DTR," we had to have another. Somehow, we had managed to not define the relationship, and she was thoroughly confused.

As we sat and talked seriously for the second time in twenty-four hours, I began to wrestle with fear that her frustration and questions were indicating that she wanted out of the relationship, even though she had just gotten in. In a moment of unreason, fears of isolation and rejection began to take over my mind. I began to act defensive, tense, and self-righteous. As I began to become aware of this dynamic in myself, I began to realize just how much I wanted her to stay in the relationship. And as a result, I was working hard to maintain the appearance of knowing exactly what I was doing. Needless to say, my attempts failed but she decided to stay with me anyway. It is the only decision she has ever made that I would seriously consider a mistake.

My wife and I can now laugh at the convoluted and confused beginning to our romance. We can appreciate the fact that we survived our first crisis on our second date. But for me, the following months were an exercise in learning to be confident in her commitment to the relationship. I wrestled with my need for her to affirm me, and watched where my need would damage our relationship. I would win some matches, and lose others. At the core, though, I knew something was missing from my life, something important that would allow me to break free of my dependence upon my (now) wife's acceptance and validation of me.

The previous chapter (and this introduction, really) were focused almost entirely on this problem. And the problem is that in our isolation from sin, from ourselves, and from God, we inevitably turn to other people's opinions of us to ground our sense of self. This unhealthy dependence upon other people drives many of our relationships. The alternative is not a life of independence, but a life of interdependence-a relationship of mutual support and comfort wherein the basic movement of the relationship is not taking, but giving.

Adam and Eve's original intimacy, in other words, can be restored. We are not bound to hide behind fig leaves forever. We do not have to "put our best foot forward" with each other-we can experience the loving, tender, strong affirmation of who we are in the core of our being. It is this love to which we must turn if we are to navigate the romantic world properly.

Exit question: too sappy?