Joy, mystery, grace — and one awkward dinner

It was the most important meal I ever had, but I don’t remember the food, let alone the restaurant.

In my defense, this was years ago. It was June 2011, and we were in Davis, Calif. I was visiting my girlfriend, Michelle, who had just finished her master’s degree at the University of California, Davis. It was time to celebrate.

We had walked perhaps a mile from her home to the restaurant, where we dined at a patio table. The sky was clear and blue. It was the end of the day, and sunlight caressed our skin.

We ordered sparkling wine. I could not tell you if the wine was dry or sweet, but I will always remember how the wine glasses glinted in the light, which wrapped itself around us. Just as I will always remember Michelle’s blond hair in that light. Just as I will always remember the slight chill that came with the setting sun. We talked about our hopes and dreams, and what might come with her graduation.

I had nothing to be afraid of, and yet I was terrified. Awkwardly, I had carried my workbag to the restaurant. There was no work in it. Just a small box, which contained a simple ring with a leaf design. The box was too big to fit into my pocket, and because I am clumsy, I was worried I would lose the ring. So, I stuffed the box into my workbag and pretended it was totally normal to be carrying this prop to dinner.

The conversation and evening flowed. After dinner we walked to another patio for drinks. Caught up in the magic of the moment — finishing grad school, the wine, that rapturous golden light — Michelle looked at me and said something like, “Are you going to take the ring out of your bag and propose, Brodesky, or what?”

I laughed and playfully told her no, I was not. What ring?!

And while Michelle did not want me to propose on the spot — she is never so blunt or demanding — the frustration of the moment and my apparent lack of any plan for the evening boiled over. She left for the bathroom.

I sat on the patio with my workbag, the ring and my fear.

Now, this part of the story, at least for me, is complicated. I did plan to propose that night. Not on a patio surrounded by others, but later at a nearby park. But it’s also true that I was afraid to propose, and I had found ways all spring to somehow push back this moment by months, weeks, days. And now minutes.

When Michelle returned, I’m pretty sure we didn’t talk much. And when we left the restaurant, making our way to the park, she walked ahead of me. Finally, in the middle of Davis’ Central Park, I called to Michelle, bent down on my left knee and proposed.

We were married March 24, 2012.

When we became engaged, we thought we knew each other (ha!). But with the passage of time, I can see that even though

we had dated for four years, we barely knew one other. Just as I can see that to open oneself to another person with a full heart is to open oneself to the wonder of life and shared mystery.

Michelle and I have moved to new cities together. Made mistakes together. Had children. Argued. Burned meals. Miscommunicated. Overcommunicated. Taken long walks. Apologized.

Given space. Crowded one another. Undercut each other. Backed each other up. Cried. Laughed. Loved. Aged.

This is another way of saying that marriage is nothing like I ever imagined. It is more work than I could have understood, and it requires more grace and understanding than I could have possibly known.

And it is more rewarding and joyful than I could have known. At dinner in Davis, I could not see how, through our marriage, life would open and reveal itself in the grandest and most magical of ways. I could not see our children, friendships or careers that would follow.

I did not understand that in each day to come, I would love Michelle just a little more — and that when it comes to love, “a little more” is boundless. I did not see how our love for each other, like that golden light, would wrap around us.

If I could go back in time, I would propose days, weeks or months earlier. But the passage of time fills my heart with gratitude for 12 years of marriage and a boundless love.

Courtesy photo When we became engaged in 2011, I did not understand how boundless love can be.