One day, about 2 months and 12 days ago, I was sitting in my office at BYU, pretending to work
(I might have actually been succeeding at the time, it's hard to tell) when I got a phone call from my oldest brother, Bruce. It went something like this:
"So, I just went to the doctor. You know, the single one I've been telling you about." Internal eye roll from me. "We got to talking and I found out he's not dating anyone AND he's going to be up in Salt Lake City this weekend. I asked him if he would be interested in going on a blind date with you. We did a little Facebook stalking and he said he would be game if you are."
Ugh. I had to think long and hard about that one. Number one, my track record with blind dates: not great. Number two, my track record with men in general: not great. But I had JUST said the week before that I needed new ways to meet men my age. I couldn't very well turn down a date with a pretty decent guy (from what I could tell from my own Facebook stalking skills as well as my own brother's testimonials) and then complain about my dating/marital status. Plus, blind dates hardly ever call. So I said, "Sure, what the heck!" I asked a few questions, chit chatted with Bruce a little bit more, and then called it a day at work. I was pooped. I thought a little bit about this David Grygla character, but soon put it out of my mind. He'll never call, I thought.
Well, he called. That night. Like three hours later. And I missed it. Not that I would have answered an unrecognized number anyway, but still. It was 9:00 p.m. by the time I saw
the missed call. I debated calling him back that night. I decided to put it off.
That was Thursday night.
Friday morning, I sent an email to a group of old roommates, polling them as to whether or not I
should call this guy back. Niki's response: "You should go. At the very least, you'll get a free meal and a good story out of it."
Truer words have never been spoken.
So, after a day of hemming and hawing, I called him back on my way home from work. We talked for probably 30 minutes, which was surprising to me since I'm usually a terrible phone talker, and he had me laughing the whole time. The conversation ended with us agreeing to meet up at the Spanish Fork airport the next day for a lunchtime airplane ride to Heber followed by an aerial fall foliage tour. Yes, in his plane. Yes, piloted by him. Was I crazy? Maybe a little.
I think we both went into the date pretty curious. What kind of 40 year old man who's never been
married chooses to practice medicine in St. George? What kind of California girl lives in DC for seven years and then ends up teaching at BYU? Needless to say, the conversation was not usual first-date fare. We could have talked for hours longer. When we parted ways, I wondered what, if anything, would come of it. He said he hoped I would come to St. George soon, and if so, he hoped we could go out again. I said I'd work on it. I was intrigued. Apparently, so was he.
He has called every day since then. I found myself down there the very next weekend.
Needless to say, it has been a whirlwind romance. With him in St. George and me in American Fork, our courtship was done largely over the phone, hours on end talking about anything and everything, combined with intense, alternating weekend trips. There wasn't a lot of point in holding back. We both knew we were playing in the big leagues, playing for keeps. If this wasn't going to work out, we both wanted to know as soon as possible. But it just kept getting better and better. And then, about two weeks ago, I took the plunge and moved to St. George.
I could bore you with the details of our first kiss (which consisted of me leaving church during
Sunday School and driving to St. George on a whim--so reckless!), the week I spent with his family at Thanksgiving, the day I realized I would marry him (the day after Thanksgiving), the day he told me he loved me (which was the day after I realized I would probably marry him), and all of the huge decisions that have followed since. But I know you really just want to know about
tonight.
Dave surprised me a couple of days ago by telling me that one of his colleagues had offered to cover his OB call if we wanted to go somewhere for Christmas. He suggested we fly up to Utah County to spend Christmas evening with his sister's family and asked if I wanted to invite my dad along, too. I, of course, was thrilled. It was my first Christmas away from home, and while we were making the best of it and having a good time with just the two of us, I was happy for the chance for both of us to be with family even for just a few hours. So, as soon as church was over, we headed for the airport and flew up to the Spanish Fork airport, where it all started.
Dave was acting a little funny, but I chalked it up to him being a little nervous about meeting Dad for the first time. After dinner, he started getting pushy about me playing the piano for everyone. He had insisted I bring up some piano music to play after dinner, and I was fine with that until I heard one of the grandchildren tearing it up. I got self-conscious and refused to play. It took careful prodding from Dad (who was in on the plan) and pleading from Dave (who promised to make it up to me later) for me to agree. I went out to the car to get my music and when I returned, Ed had set up his camera with lighting. All eyes were on me, and the parents kept shushing their kids. I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about, but I sat at the piano anyway and tried to calm my nerves to play. I decided to play for Dave and Dad and no one else. My fingers steadied, and I started to play the Wexford Carol.
Dave stood next to me at the piano, which I took as a move of solidarity, and I appreciated the gesture. As I began to play, I could feel a little clunking in the left hand. What is that noise, I wondered. I kept playing. The clunking continued, but I wasn't about to stop and point out to people I hardly knew that their piano was a little crappy with a couple of busted hammers. Then Dave noticed the clunking.
"What's that sound?"
"I don't know." I kept playing.
A few seconds later, Dave said, "Seriously, Julie. What is that?" He peered into the piano. I peered right along with him. I stopped playing when I realized I could see something sitting there on the strings. My first thought was, What kid left their Christmas present in the piano? So irresponsible! Dave pulled it out gingerly and held it out for my inspection. When nothing registered on my face, he carefully opened the box. In it was the most beautiful, sparkly ring I had ever seen. And it was for me.
I, of course, burst into tears.
Much hugging and kissing and picture taking ensued. There was a question in there somewhere--and a yes from me--and then the realization that I was going to marry the best man I knew. People talk about how you just know, how it's different than all the rest. Yeah, you can't really do that feeling justice--you've just got to feel it--but boy is it real. And it. is. amazing.
Ed captured the entire thing on video. So did Dad. Turns out everyone in the room knew I was
being proposed to except for me. And I didn't suspect a thing. Not one darn thing. Dave asked me the other day if I liked surprises. I had no idea this is what was cooking.
So, there you go--the biggest and best confession of all. I am in love with the best man I've ever
known. And he's in love with me. So we're getting married.
In the words of my future husband, David Glen Grygla: It's a freaking miracle.
