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About nine years ago, I met this guy at the Bowling Palace in Downingtown, PA. Little did I know how he would change my life.

My friend Becca was bowling on a league for homeschoolers and invited me to come with her. The lane next to ours was vacant, but, being a bookwork, I noticed that there was a stack of books on the table.

One was called “Rich Christians in the Age of Hunger.” With a title like that, I couldn’t help myself. I picked up the book and began to read. I got through the first chapter and this slightly irritated male voice said, “Those are my books.” I froze, but not one to be intimidated, I spun around and, looking at him right in the eyes, said, “Well! I hope you don’t agree with this socialist author… while I think that Christians have a responsibility to the poor, God certainly does bless some Christians with money. I don’t like the idea of guilt-tripping Christians whom God has blessed. What about Christians who are poor and who aren’t content? I think there are deeper attitude issues here that aren’t being addressed.”

From my soapbox, I could see that he was a head taller than me. Dark hair, nice Italian olive skin, and yet had hazel-green eyes… in fact, the same color as mine. He had about a two-day old shave, and looked to be pretty strong. He was speechless. He wasn’t used to girls who voiced their opinion.

Becca rescued him.

“Oh, I see you met my friend Sarah from Indiana. Sarah, this is Tom.”

It turns out, he was writing a paper for his college economics class, and the prof had challenged him to write on economics from a Christian perspective. I was pursuing a career in journalism – I wanted to be a war-correspondent – and loved the opportunity to write about an interesting topic. I gave him my email address and asked him to send me a note. He didn’t write for two weeks.

I spent the night at Becca’s. While we were in our sleeping bags by the coal stove, I asked her about Tom. “Tom Albrecht? Well, he’s not really my type [she later married a blonde-haired, blue-eyed military guy] but he’s really smart and he’s funny. Still, I can’t imagine kissing him or anything.”

(Some how the kissing line has stuck in my memory. Little does she know how fun it is to kiss him.. I think I’ve kissed him over 1,000 times at this point.)

What Becca failed to mention when she introduced us was that I had moved from Indiana, where I had lived for a few years with my family, back to Pennsylvania. That we had known each other as girls, and recently had reconnected. But, God had plans to cause our paths to cross again.

My sister Bethany was taking a pottery class at the Chester Springs Art Studio and had made friends with a girl named Megan Catranis. Megan brought her to church – Immanuel Presbyterian (Now Olive Street Presbyterian, where we still attend) – where she caught Tom’s brother’s eye. I’m not clear on the details, but Tom and Matt were at the Catranis’ house and Bethany’s name came up. Bethany Phenicie. Phenicie is not a common name, and Tom said, “Hey, I met someone named Sarah Phenicie. She gave me her email address but I didn’t see a point to writing to someone in Indiana.” Megan’s dad was like, “You idiot. That’s Bethany’s older sister. They just moved from Indiana. WRITE TO HER.”

He emailed me that night and invited me to see Empire Strikes Back.

That weekend, he picked me up in his little white late-80s Le Mans hatchback. I sat in the front passenger seat. Four guys were crammed in the back. A thick, black glove was stuffed between the window-crank and the door. I was told not to touch it or else the window would fall down. I was the only girl, even out of the crowd of friends that met them at the theater. They had snuck in a bag of homemade beef jerky, and passed it back and forth over my head the whole night. I never had so much fun. I can still remember that I wore my favorite multi-colored crocheted sweater – which I still have.

Tom and Ibegan to see each other, but never wanted to admit we were falling for each other.

When Tom brought up the subject of commitment in dating, I flatly told him that I “wasn’t interested in getting married or having children” and that I wasn’t thinking in that direction at the moment. He just calmly said, “I understand. But, I want you to know that I like spending time with you and that if that’s all you’re willing to give me, I’ll take it.”

We’d go to Fennario, a wonderful coffeehouse in West Chester, PA, and play chess for hours while talking. I was always in trouble for getting home late.

After one such date, we both leaned in and kissed each other as if we’d been kissing each other forever. It was the most wonderful, memorable kiss of my entire life. Who knew such a big, strong guy could kiss so tenderly? It melted my cold heart. We sort of pushed each other away and were like, “What was that? We’re not even dating!” We retreated to his car and talked about the “what ifs” and decided that we worked well together.

Two weeks later, I moved back to Indiana with my family.

My heart stayed in Pennyslvania.

One concern Tom had expressed to me over cappuccinos and checkmates was that, while I said that I was a Christian (religious convictions tend to come up when you’re exploring a person’s mind), I had never been baptized. My answer was that I didn’t feel ready. His answer was that I was required to obey God, not to make excuses. Before I left for Indiana, he gave me a copy of “Lord of the Saved” by Kenneth Gentry. It was about the problem of Christians who give lip service to God but do not surrender their hearts.

A few months later, on the Easter Sunday, just before my 18th birthday, I was baptized at Wallen Baptist Church in Fort Wayne, Indiana. There were about 500 people in attendance. Heart convictions drive out fear, and I clearly testified to the importance of obedience. I’d been a Christians since I was four, but had been fighting the need to obey and be baptized.

Suddenly, my Christianity wasn’t an uphill battle. Scripture actually made sense. I realized that when I yielded myself to God, The Holy Spirit could actually work in my heart and teach me.

The long distance relationship was difficult to bear. There were a few times we almost broke up. He even stole his dad’s brand new Mustang to drive out to see me – I had thought it was better for us if we broke up. Instead of me breaking up with him in person, we renewed our commitment to each other.

I was attending Taylor University – by God’s grace, I had a full, academic scholarship, that included room and board – and flew out to see him for Spring Break.

My flight was very late arriving. It was past midnight. When I got into the car, I noticed there was a familiar leather cord tied around Tom’s neck. Hoping it still held the little garnet ring I had given him (I was wearing his class ring), I pulled it out from under his collar to check. There was a ring there, but it was platinum and boasted five perfect diamonds.

“Whose ring is this?” I said. It really didn’t click.
“Does it fit you?” he asked.
I tried it on. It was beginning to click.
“Um.. yeah!”

In heavy 95 traffic out of Baltimore, and in the thickest fog and torrential of downpours, with one hand on the wheel of his dad’s car and the other holding mine, Tom proposed to me. “I love you and I want you to be my wife.”

There were a few complications in between our engagement and the wedding, but in the end, my family came to Pennsylvania and my father walked me down the aisle.

As we stood in the back of the chapel on a hot, August Friday afternoon, my dad turned to me and said, “I have the car running outside… you don’t have to do this.” “But, dad, I love him! I want to get married!”

Seeing I couldn’t be persuaded otherwise and that it was really what I wanted, my father, the ex-Marine who once enlisted to go to Vietnam and ended up a Sergeant, began to cry. It was the first time I saw him cry. I cried, too. He tightly grabbed my hand, walked with me, and gave me away.

It rained in between the wedding and the reception, which was at the Catranis’ house, where I had lived that summer, and the fresh, cooler air created a beautiful mist over the pond. People still come up to me and say that our simple potluck reception was one of the most relaxed and most fun of all of the receptions they’ve ever been to.

Much has happened since then. Taylor dropped the Journalism major and I dropped out. I went to work and helped to put Tom through his last year of school. He graduated from West Chester University the December after our first son, Thomas, was born.

I’m now pregnant with our fifth baby, who is due a month after our seventh wedding anniversary.

So, that was my beginning as a married woman. It makes for one lengthy blog post, huh?

My hope is that my blog will offer a glimpse into the life of a married, Christian woman. The thoughts, joys, struggles…

I tend to be a transparent person in real life, and I hope that my blog will be, too. If you stumble upon this page, send me an email to say hello. I love hearing from people.

With much love,
Sarah Joy Albrecht

PS: I invite you to check out our family blog and photos at www.glamdring.org.