There’s The Man God Chose

There’s my territory.

Shakira lyrics defined much of my college experience and the years I lived abroad after undergrad. But I’ve had to adapt this one, because I didn’t choose Anthony, not at first. God did. As omniscient master and creator of the universe, the great I AM is always ahead of the game, isn’t he?

I only had two conditions for the husband God had for me, just two! And they were reasonable too! I only required that my future husband that God had planned have no history of drug use- past, present or future- and that he have a minimum of a bachelor’s degree.

Cue God laughing in my 28-year old face here.

I met Anthony around his celebration of one year sober while living in an Oxford house (an Oxford house is a sober-living home, but I didn’t know that). I had been so clear with my requests to God that I said to Anthony, “You live in an Oxford house? Is that affiliated with Oxford University?” Umm, no, poor little fool of a girl.

Anthony explained what it was. I babbled about how Beatrix Potter was my favorite author as a child and lived in England even though that had nothing to do with the conversation. I just couldn’t figure out what else to say to hide my surprise and kept talking about Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddle-Duck.

Anthony also told me very early on that he had spent much of his life hustling drugs and was determined never to return to that life. He was also determined never to return to jail, where he suffered the earthly consequences of the life he was leading.

Anthony asked me on a date. I said no. He asked again. I said no again.

I said we could just be friends. Rather than say that wasn’t what he wanted, Anthony said he wanted me in his life however he could get me. I was so impressed that he wanted to get to actually know me, even if we weren’t going to date, that I started to wonder if I’d possibly been wrong about not wanting to be with him. I admired his perfect button nose and extraordinary biceps but tried not to.

He kept asking me out, and I kept saying no. We talked on the phone every night, and it wasn’t awkward even though I kept turning down. In the back of my mind, I noted that not feeling awkward around someone who was obviously into you was probably a sign that you were slightly into them, even if you couldn’t admit it to yourself yet.

How could I fit him into my life? I asked myself. It was too hard to explain. He didn’t fit in with my friends, or my white-collar career, or anything…except, of course, my spiritual life.

We’d both been attending the same church for years, and had both spent our first few years of attending that church sitting in the back row or pews, crying for our respective reasons. Having tried dating “Christian” guys who openly confessed they hoped that dating me would get them to go to church more, I was attracted to the fact that Anthony was devoted to serving Jesus, and his devotion had nothing to do with me. It preexisted meeting me and was forged in the fire.

Besides, all the Christian men I met who were my age were kind of dweebs.

Sorry, but not sorry.

When I decided I wanted to go out on a date, I figured the time had passed. I was too timid to ask a guy out (it was just never in my nature, although I admired the girls who were brave enough to do so) and I knew I couldn’t admit to him that I’d changed my mind. So I prayed, “Ok, God, no guy is going to keep coming back and asking me out after all that. But I feel like I messed up saying no and am afraid he’s given up on me or maybe even moved on to someone else. Can you tell him to ask me out again?”

Ping. My phone lit up. (We’d later discover we’d been praying at the exact same time). Anthony wrote, “Stacey, I’m not going to give up or stop asking you out unless you tell me to. I really want to take you out. Do you want to get lunch or dinner this weekend?”

I said yes. Then two years later, this happened:

Of course, then our Cub came to us in November 2019. (This photo was last week at the library, his favorite place).

It has not been all rainbows and butterflies. We’ve had our ups and our very low downs. But at least once a week, I look at my husband and feel grateful that God has given me this proof that my redeemer lives. Your redeemer lives. THE redeemer lives. Miracles abound in the form of healing and in the form of people that God has redeemed.

This is the testimony that Anthony shared at church this past Easter. If there’s interest, I’ll add to his testimony, as he was allotted only 45 seconds to speak. I initially intended to include more backstory about how he reached rock bottom but don’t want to make this post too long. Here’s what he said:

“Just 10 years ago, I was 365 pounds, homeless, and coming to the end of my rope. After being a drug dealer and addict for about 20 years, my life changed one night when I heard the Lord say Matthew 11:28 (Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls). For days this passage haunted my every move. I was desperate and all I wanted was rest for my soul. I hit my knees and the Father held me as I was. Today my yoke is easy and my burden is light. I marvel at what Jesus has done and to this day I still work on myself to break generational curses in my family.”

Of course, we’re both working to break generational curses. Because, well, just look at our little Cub. He deserves the best.

He deserves better than us.

He deserves better than anything we can become in our own strength.

Lucky for us, our redeemer lives.

Ok, tender friends, that’s all for today. I had a good writing week last week, so I’m going to share about that in Thursday’s post. I’ll share the other posts I’d planned for Thursday next week instead.

Thank you for visiting, and see you Thursday!

Thank you for sharing!

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