Newlywed Love (#8)

December 17, 1969

Although our mailbox wasn’t as full as during pre-wedding days, Nate faithfully checked it. I loved receiving occasional letters from Mary, Mom, and others who kept me current with the news of family and friends back home.

One day, after I’d hiked up the stairs at the end of a long work day, Nate and I greeted each other warmly as always – but then he said, “Interesting mail today.”

“From who?” I said.

With a serious expression he turned to get the letter, handing it to me while keeping his eyes on my face. Immediately I recognized the writing — my old boyfriend.

Although it was addressed to both of us, Nate had chosen not to open it.

“I have no idea what it is,” I said, “but you can open it if you want.”

“No thanks,” he said.

When I was still dating this guy, I was also exchanging letters with Nate, and he knew about the relationship from before it began until after it ended 18 months later. I often asked “my friend Nate” for advice about how to handle conflict with “my boyfriend,” and through that time Nate never said a negative word about him.

Instead, he gave his objective opinions, absent of any pressure on me to break it off, though that’s what he was hoping for. He gave me the freedom to choose while praying passionately that God would turn my heart toward him.

As I held this unexpected letter in a hand that was slightly trembling, I looked up at my young husband and saw something new in his face: anger. Not toward me but toward the letter and its author.

Wanting to reassure him I said, “If you want to, we can just throw it away without opening it.”

“No.” he said, “Let’s see what he wants.”

LetterI opened the envelope and began reading aloud, struggling with a tightness in my throat. “I’d like to be friends with both of you,” he wrote. “So I’m inviting you to my New Year’s Eve party. It’ll be at my house – Dec. 31, of course.”

He wrote about a new beginning and gave the details of the party, ending with, “Hope to see you there!”

Nate didn’t say a word, but his thoughts were all over his face. He waited for me to speak.

I handed the letter back to him and said, “I have absolutely zero interest in having a relationship with him, or attending his party. I hope I never see him again in my whole life.”

Nate’s expression relaxed a bit and he encircled me in a strong hug. Though I still felt shaky, I was sure everything was going to work out right. Together we composed a brief response with a “no” for the RSVP, clearly stating we weren’t interested in pursuing friendship.

I love you.Later as we walked to the mailbox, we talked further about the letter and the possibility of other outside influences coming from all kinds of places with potential to harm our marriage. And we decided then and there that we would be intentional about fending them all off…. together.

“Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life.” (Proverbs 4:23)

Newlywed Love (#6)

December 15, 1969

GiftsAs the days passed toward our one month anniversary, it was time to get serious about writing thank you notes. The task was daunting, and in 1969, tradition dictated that the bride wrote them all. I loved to write and didn’t have trouble saying what my heart was feeling, but several hundred of them? Overwhelming.

Nate encouraged me to write 5 each evening, starting at the beginning of our gift record book and proceeding straight through. “Maybe on the weekends you could write a few more than that,” he said. “And then they’d all be done by the end of March.”

Keeping up that kind of steady pace sounded like a test of self-discipline I didn’t have, but I set up a little “writing corner” on a metal TV tray in our still-sparse apartment – a pen, note cards, and our record book.

Note cardsWhen we’d ordered the wedding invitations, we’d also requested note cards with our married title on the front, and envelopes to match. So as I opened the first one to begin writing, I got sweet encouragement by reading that lovely new identification: Mr. and Mrs. Willard Nathan Nyman. Looking at that over and over would spur me on.

One side benefit of writing thank you’s was the regular conversations I had with Mom when I called for addresses. She encouraged me to go at it with enthusiasm, although she added some healthy pressure. “People were very generous to you and Nathan,” she said, “so try to be generous with your words as you write. Make each note card very personal.”

And so I began…. but by the end of the first week, I had already fallen behind. After a long day of teaching with an hour commute at each end, the higher priority for my evenings was to spend time with my new husband. He, too, wanted to be together “to play a little” after a day of high stress.

Also, I was still figuring out how to cook, and after we’d eaten a minimal dinner, we’d often take a long walk around the neighborhood. Holding hands as we went, we’d dream out loud about some distant day when we might own a house like the ones we passed as we walked.

Neighborhood.

Pointing to an English Tudor I’d say, “That’ll be my house.” He preferred a saltbox colonial or anything else with symmetry. Talking about owning a home some day and a togetherness that stretched that far into the future warmed me in some hidden place deep inside, and both of us felt a gentle peace in knowing we’d always be together.

“In all toil there is profit.” (Proverbs 14:23)

Newlywed Love (#4)

December 4, 1969

Alarm clock.On the Thursday after our wedding, Nate and I woke to the ringing of an alarm clock — our official call-back into “regular life.” But waking up with a husband lying next to me was indeed something special. The charm of that hadn’t diminished at all…. but then again, we’d only had five such mornings.

“Hello, my husband!” I said, enamored with the sound of that.

His response was, “I love you, Meg.”

We extracted ourselves from the swoopy center of the Murphy bed, and Nate made coffee in our little percolator while I showered. But making coffee didn’t take long, and before I finished, he was peeking around the shower curtain, hoping to be invited in… which he was.

In an hour I was riding in Judy’s car on the way to Danville with her and Linda, mentally working hard to switch gears from bride to teacher. I couldn’t recall what I’d been teaching them when I left and was nervous about jumping right in. A sub had taken my place for 3 days, and I had no idea where the children were in their studies.

Lesson plan bookBut I needn’t have worried. While I was reacquainting myself with my lesson plan book, “my” children began running in, excited that I was back. Each wanted a personal hug, and their affection was exactly the encouragement I needed.

Once they were all at their desks and we’d said the Pledge of Allegiance, I began happily sharing the details of our wedding. But what they really wanted was to tell me what had happened in their lives while I’d been gone.

Many had gifts for me – drawings of turkeys, family members, and me. Together we hung them in a row across the blackboard, and I reminded them of my new name.

“But you’re Miss Johnson,” several said, with furrowed brows.

Lowering my voice to a whisper, I leaned toward them and said, “Let me tell you a little secret. I’m having trouble remembering my new name. I’ve been Miss Johnson for 24 years and have only had my new name for 5 days.” I held up 5 fingers, continuing to whisper. “I’m going to ask you for a big favor. Would you help me remember my new name?” None of them said a word.

Throughout that first day, I purposely referred to myself as Miss Johnson a number of times, and sure enough. They jumped all over me. “Not anymore! You’re Mrs. Nyman now!” Before long they were competing to see who could correct me first — and that’s all it took.

As we got closer to the 3:00 bell, my thoughts turned toward our apartment, hoping Nate would be there when I got home. Being separated from him had seemed unnatural after 7 days of togetherness.

Once our carpool had driven the 40 miles back to Champaign, I raced up the stairs and there he was, throwing the door open. He spread his arms wide, and I joyfully ran right in.

A student.His day of classes hadn’t passed as easily as my first day. He’d missed a great deal, and law school moves at a fast clip with massive reading assignments every day. He knew it would take a while to catch up and get on top of it again.

To this point in his studies he hadn’t missed a single class, so it was hard to deal with the fallout of having missed so many. My role in all of it, though, was a very nice one — to do everything I could to ease his stress.

“When we run into problems…. we know that they help us develop endurance.” (Romans 5:3)