We met in the music department at Auburn University. I was an introverted seventeen-year-old freshman, and he was a sophomore who happened to arrive late to the first rehearsal of the concert choir retreat because of some other event on campus. From the moment he and the other latecomers arrived and took their seats, I could feel someone staring at me. At some point the girl beside me even said, “I think someone is trying to get your attention.” Embarrassed, I didn’t turn around.
Undeterred, he convinced the president of the choir to orchestrate a “meet and greet” during the talent show portion of the evening. I was sitting quietly among all these strangers when I hear the president who was emceeing say, “Is there anyone here who hasn’t had a chance to meet someone they would like to meet?” From a few rows back, I hear a guy say, “I want to meet her!” To my absolute horror, the young man who had spoken was pointing at me. Weeks went by before we actually spoke.
We married five years later while he was serving in the Army.
We had three kids in quick succession and loved every minute of the chaos and exhaustion that ensued. Twelve years spent homeschooling and chauffeuring to various music lessons, swim team practices, and orchestra rehearsals rolled into seven years of overlapping college tuition payments and countless hours of moving them in and out of dorm rooms and apartments. Less than a year after the last one graduated from college, we took a leap, sold our house, and started our Barndo.
It’s almost been 40 years since that fateful night at the choir retreat. After 35 years of marriage, he knows that I don’t enjoy being in the spotlight or drawing attention to myself. I know that his impulsivity is one of his most deeply engrained qualities. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.
Song of Solomon 6:3
Maple Ridge Barndo 