I remember what I was wearing that morning.
I rarely pay attention to clothes. On the drive home from work, my carpool buddy would say, “Can you believe what so-and-so was wearing today?” I would not have an inkling of what the offender was wearing and why it was so horrid. A fashion maven I am not. It’s fortunate I even get dressed in the morning–I would love to spend the day in pajama pants.
On this particular Sunday morning I was wearing a light blue dress with pink and yellow flowers, topped with a quarter-sleeved yellow cardigan.
As I went to sit in the church pew that Easter, a row of eyes looked up, surprised. Eyebrows went up. Bottoms scooted over. I sat down and Ed sat down next to me. I was sandwiched between him and his family.
I whispered to Ed, “Didn’t you tell your family we were dating?”
“No,” he whispered back.
After the service, we wandered over to the gymnasium, or rather the parish hall as we Lutherans like to call it on Sunday mornings, for the annual Easter brunch. We went our separate ways; I found my family and he went with his. We had been dating for only couple of weeks, after all.
Not long afterwards, I felt someone watching me from across the room. I turned and looked around. The watcher was Ed, smiling at me. I smiled back.
Usually the thought of someone watching you is creepy. Even the title of my post is a little creepy. No one likes to be watched. It’s an invasion of personal space, even if the watcher is far away.
Even so, the intention of the watcher makes all the difference. How often have you gazed at your spouse with love in your eyes? (Or, how often have you glared at your spouse, wishing he would drop dead?)
In this particular moment, as Ed and I looked at each other, we were taking the first steps in our relationship.
And that was not creepy at all.