By Cara Virostko

When I used to think about getting married and raising a family, it seemed a very long way away. I daydreamed about where we would live and what kind of house we would own, but I never bothered to think about how this was all going to come about. At age 21 I felt like I had my whole life in front of me and was in no hurry to make any big plans beyond graduating and finding a job.

Did I ever think about having a boyfriend? No. Been there, done that. My one previous romantic relationship convinced me that I would not go that route again. It is too easy to become emotionally and physically involved with someone without really knowing him. I have believed all my life that certain things in a relationship should be reserved for marriage. It was not until someone forced me to really think about the process of finding someone to marry that I realized how much more there is to know.

I spent a year studying abroad in Norwich, England. I imagine neither my home institution nor the University of East Anglia, where I studied, would be very pleased to hear me say this, but it was like a vacation. Five hours a week of classes leaves a person with a lot of free time.

I explored the city of Norwich, walking around the broad—a fancy British word for pond—and drinking lots of tea. I also found an immense amount of time to use email. When you’re 3,000 miles from home, an email is almost better than a phone call. I spent hours writing to my friends and family. The days when I logged on and found five or six messages waiting for me were the best.

If it sounds like I didn’t have any friends to hang out with, that’s because for the most part, I didn’t. I got in touch with the Bahá’í community as soon as I arrived, but there wasn’t anyone my age among them except for a married couple several years older than me. They were all wonderful to me, though. I felt as if I had a bunch of loving aunts and uncles and grandparents around to look after me.

As for the dorm, I lived with ten other girls and one much older guy, and we all shared a kitchen. It took me a while to feel comfortable around them, particularly when their favorite pastime was hanging out at the pub. I did meet a very nice guy from Portland, Oregon, who was also there on exchange. He and I were movie buddies for the most part, and went to town every other week to see a new film at the cinema.

I had plenty of time to dream up ideas for travel and ways to serve the Bahá’í Faith, my religion. Eventually I decided on trying to plan a musical teaching trip around the United Kingdom, so I wrote a letter to an email discussion group called Bahá’í Announce asking for ideas, and hoping to find other interested musicians. Almost immediately I received two responses. One came from a Bahá’í who knew all the right people and had already forwarded my letter to them. The other was from a Bahá’í youth in Montana who just wanted to wish me well. I was so totally floored by the second letter, I wrote back immediately, thanking him.

I couldn’t imagine why this young man had chosen to take the time to write to me, particularly since we were so far apart. His letter was so warm and friendly. It was the same feeling as when you are walking down the street and a stranger looks you square in the face and smiles a real smile.

He wrote back again almost immediately with a very candid letter, asking me if I was interested in beginning an online friendship. Actually, he invited me out for a cup of coffee, but I sort of had to take a rain check. His name was Lyon.

We wrote back and forth pretty regularly for a few weeks. His letters were incredibly long and philosophical. I was fascinated. Of course, it usually took me several hours to read and respond. For every three pages he sent me I probably managed half a page.

When it got closer to Christmas break, we stopped writing much, because I was busy with my plans for Scotland. There was a funny moment in November, though. I went on a short trip to see the cliffs in Dover and had a scary experience there. The details are not important, but what was funny is that the first and only person I wanted to talk to about it was Lyon. I somehow instinctively knew that he would understand my feelings. Of course, I didn’t think anything of it at the time.

After my trip to Dover, I was inspired to begin a mass-mailing list so I could tell everyone at once how great it all was. Lyon’s was the last name on my list. Without fail I received encouraging words from him about his interest in my stories. So when I wasn’t sending mass mailings, I tried to write him personally.

I told him about the long walks I took along the broads (streams), and he told me about his latest epiphanies. I really loved talking with him, because I felt safe saying anything that came to mind. I knew that not only would he never ridicule me, but usually he found some hidden insight in my thoughts that I didn’t know was there. Most of his letters I saved in a data folder for days when I needed some inspiration.

We didn’t write that much after I returned from Scotland, because we were both very busy. I discovered the joys of hanging out with the girls on my floor. They convinced me to put on a very short skirt and dragged me to a dance club for the first time in my life.

Much to my surprise, I had a really great time with them, even though most of them were a mite tipsy. Alison was the one I hung out with the most. We spent most of our evenings cooking vegan food, watching Star Trek, and talking about men. Alison had a boyfriend who lived in London and came up to visit once in a while. I didn’t have a whole lot of stories to share because I’d been single for a year. Most of my thoughts were centered around someday meeting the "right" person that I would want to spend the rest of my life with. I never dreamed when Alison and I chatted about marriage and families that an opportunity would present itself so soon.

The month we had off over Easter I spent backpacking by myself on the continent. Believe it or not, it is a relatively affordable thing to do if you mostly walk around beautiful old cities, enjoying the atmosphere, and sampling from the fresh-fruit markets.

I can’t explain why I left several days earlier than I had to, or why Paris didn’t interest me much the second time, except to say that I missed England. The first thing I did when I arrived home was throw off my pack and run to the library to email everyone and tell them I was back. I promised that stories of my adventures would be coming soon. Several people wrote short notes welcoming me back and assuring me that they were looking forward to hearing about my trip. Lyon was one of them. The letter I got from him after detailing my journey was not at all what I expected.

Alison and I had been going to the gym pretty regularly before break, so we tried to go back to the same routine when we returned. One morning after a good workout, I really wanted to stop and check my email. The day before, I had received a letter from Lyon asking me about my hair color. It was a funny question coming from him, and I was very curious to know why he asked.

I opened up his response and began reading with increasing interest. I hardly noticed when Alison left, calling, "I’ll meet you back at the dorm," on her way out. I kept reading faster and faster until I was barely scanning the words. It didn’t seem possible that this wonderful, intelligent, perceptive, loving Bahá’í was actually interested in pursuing the possibility of marriage with me.

When I reached the end of his letter, and I became aware of the flush that had crept upon my face, I left the computer lab and nearly floated back to the dorm. I had to tell someone.

An American exchange student, Helen, was at the kitchen table reading, so I rushed in and said, "I think I just got proposed to!" No, he hadn’t actually proposed, but it was the closest thing that I’d ever come to and I didn’t know how else to describe what sounded like an earnest request to think about getting married.

Helen naturally was shocked as I detailed a little of the story. When Alison came in and I told her, I believe her word was, "Weirdo!" Yes, all my floormates thought he was rather odd indeed for asking a girl whom he’d never met if she wanted to consider marriage. What was I thinking? I was excited, confused, happy and overwhelmed. When you’re walking along minding your own business and then suddenly someone says, "Hey, do you think you might want to consider marrying me?" all you can really think is, "Huh?!"

After a day or so, I went to visit my friend Natasha for advice. She’s in her late 20s and happily married to one of the handsomest blokes I’ve met. They are both so loving to each other and their two children that I thought they’d be able to give me some much-needed perspective.

Natasha was flabbergasted, to say the least. She couldn’t believe that this man was professing that he loved me when we’d never even met. She pointed out that there were some very important things that needed to happen before anything else. Like finding out what each other looked like and actually meeting in person. It was she who suggested that we not meet for the first time at home but rather on some neutral ground. Green Acre Baha'i School sprang to mind.

Armed with Natasha’s loving advice I returned to the keyboard and fashioned a response. Consciously or not, I made my answer very ambiguous and open-ended. I was not ready to take much responsibility for any decisions or to even own up to my own interest in the idea. Lyon chose to look on the positive side and listened carefully to the subtle hints contained within my letter.

We began writing in earnest, each new letter filled with quotes about marriage from the writings of 'Abdu'l-Bahá. I sent off a hand-written letter containing a couple pictures of myself taken in a photo booth in the student union. I think I intentionally sent photos that I thought weren’t all that flattering with the idea that he would have to love me at my worst. They somehow managed to arrive quite promptly and I was gratified by the response I received. Lyon’s package containing a letter and photos, however, seemed to be missing-in-action.

As I grew more and more fond of this funny fellow from Montana, I became terribly anxious to see what he looked like. Each day I ran over to the music building at mail time to see if the Global Priority Mail had arrived yet. I knew I was falling in love, so I was really a bit concerned. A quote from 'Abdu'l-Bahá kept ringing in my head, "first thou must choose one who is pleasing to thee." What if I didn’t find him attractive? Should that matter? These questions continued to bounce frantically around my head as the days wore on and my departure day grew near.

By the beginning of June, nearly a month after Lyon had written that fateful letter, I felt certain that this was the man I wanted to marry. No, I hadn’t seen his picture yet or even spoken to him on the phone (I figured phone calls could wait until I returned to the US), but I felt so sure. We’d spent so much time writing about our beliefs and exploring the Bahá'í writings together that I knew that we were good for each other. Well, I knew he was good for me. In a very loving and secure way he helped me to look deep within myself and see the face reflected there. He saw my potential and loved me for who I desired to be.

When I left UEA Lyon assured me that a new set of photos would be waiting for me at home when I arrived. My parents knew something of what had been going on and they knew how much I was looking forward to finally seeing what he looked like. My dad met me at the airport in Burlington, Vermont and after a big hug and few brief words he told me that my package had arrived. Nine months away from home, and yet it was news of Lyon that set my heart to beating.

When we got to the house, Janine, my step-mom, was the only one up. She hugged me for ages and then pointed me in the direction of my room saying there was a surprise for me. There on the bed lay a life-sized poster of Keanu Reeves from his movie A Walk in the Clouds and over the face of his co-star lay a Priority Mail package. See, I watched Speed at least five times in the movie theater and I own the movie. Janine had gone with me once so she knew just how big a crush I had on Keanu’s character. Cute, strong, sentimental. What more could a girl want? Anyway, after a long laugh and a cup of tea, Dad and Janine went to bed and I was left with the package.

Now, I’m going to be blatantly honest right here. Sitting in my room that night looking at his pictures, I didn’t find him at all attractive. Yes, I was more than a bit upset and confused by this. I had actually convinced myself that there was no way I would not find him attractive. It seemed like a strange cosmic joke. Now what? In the letter he included with the photographs, he asked me to email him and let him know when to call.

I allowed several days to pass before doing so, excusing myself by saying that I needed to adjust to being back in the US. The morning I had asked him to call, I got up early so that I’d be awake enough to talk coherently. No such luck. The minute I heard his voice I felt my heart skip a beat and I was completely speechless. I think it took literally ten minutes before I could utter a complete sentence. We spoke for an hour until he had to go to work. I remember, after hanging up the phone, walking out to the kitchen and hugging Janine with all my might.

Two days later, I set out, with my whole family in tow, to move back to Orono, Maine where my friends were already living in our new apartment. I was gratified when I arrived to be attacked with hugs from dear schoolmates. When we made it into the apartment, they dragged me into the dining room to point out a lovely bouquet of roses sitting on the table with a note. They were dying to know who’d sent them. I opened up the card and it said, "Welcome home. The red one is for you and the pink ones are for your roommates. Love, Lyon." How thoughtful is that! I called him the very next night and we talked for two hours. It was so nice to be able to carry on a real conversation finally instead of talking to a computer screen. I felt so comfortable talking with him. You know how when you’re first getting to know someone, even the shortest silences seem like an eternity? We could sit for minutes just content to know that we were connected by 2500 miles of phone lines.

The next month and a half took forever. While I was still in England, Lyon had arranged to come to a session at Green Acre beginning August 8. This was to be our first meeting. You wouldn’t believe how expensive our combined phone bills were during that time. More than once we stayed on the phone for six hours at a time. We had to return to the computer a lot since neither of us is independently wealthy. That’s the one advantage of being a poor college student—you get unlimited access to email.

Actually, part of the time I spent on a three-week trip around New England and New York visiting my relatives. Though I hadn’t seen most of my family since before I left for England, I admit that a small part of my motive in going was to keep busy until August 8. Of course, it didn’t work. I ended talking everyone’s ear off about this guy I was going to meet who I might just marry someday. It was a sure way to get people’s attention: "Yeah, I met this guy from Montana on the Internet while I was in England, and we want to get married."

The day we would meet finally arrived, and I rushed around town taking care of last-minute details. I had originally been worried about having too much time to wait around and get nervous, but as it turned out, I barely made it to the Portland airport in time. As I bounded up the steps to the arrivals area with my heart pounding in my throat, I saw this thin guy in black wool pants and a black silk dress shirt walk through the revolving doors. I recognized him instantly, and yet once again I had that sinking feeling like someone was playing a trick on me. Who was this stranger, and why did it feel so funny to look at him? We hugged awkwardly and then headed towards baggage claim.

Here's how serious we had become about getting married: Lyon had moved out of his apartment, and told his employer he would be leaving his job at the end of August so he could move out to Maine to be near me. Since he was hoping not to have to rent a moving truck, he decided to make use of his flight out here and bring an additional piece of luggage—a huge footlocker filled with clothes. So there we were, feeling awkward and unsure about this whole venture, and along comes this footlocker on the baggage carrier to remind us just how deep we were.

We drove into town to make good on our rain check for a cup of coffee. I remember just sitting and staring at him in awe. The whole thing seemed so surreal. I knew there was so much to be said, and yet all I could talk about were mundane things like the weather, and how cool it was to have Internet connections right there in the café.

That evening, after a quiet walk on the beach, we went to visit my dear friend Charity. She was the only person who knew both of us, and had said from the beginning that she could imagine us together. We spent the night at her house, Lyon sleeping in the living room on the couch, and me in Charity’s room. I was so glad when he went to bed and I could talk to Charity alone. My head was spinning in confusion. I couldn’t understand why it felt so odd being around him. I spent half the night staring up at the stars and chastising myself for being so shallow.

We drove down to Green Acre just in time to take part in morning devotions. On top of all that was going on with Lyon and me, this was my first time participating in an adult session and I felt a bit nervous. By afternoon, I was feeling so out of whack that I decided to skip out of evening activities and just take off for the night. I was staying with a Bahá’í friend in York. Becca and I had only met once at school before she’d become a Bahá’í, so this week was also a chance for her and me to get acquainted.

We sat on her bed and talked animatedly about our lives. I was so thrilled by the joy with which she talked about the Bahá’í Faith. Close to sunset, we drove out to the beach and went for a walk among the happy tourists. The fresh sea air and warm friendliness we shared comforted me enough to face the challenges of the next couple of days.

Sunday afternoon, Lyon and I skipped the session so that we could go to a One magazine meeting. My motives for going were to visit with some friends that I don’t get to see often, and to introduce Lyon to them. He came along because he was interested in the magazine and possibly writing for it. Go figure! (He later became an editor for One.) It felt so strange to have him in the same room with some of my dearest friends and watch him interact with them. I couldn’t understand why he seemed so different there in that setting.

Warning bells began to ring in my head that something was not quite right. I heard the voices of all my skeptical friends and family members who had warned me that people are not the same in person as they are in writing. On the computer, Lyon came off as being a rather quiet, introspective person. At the same time, he had told me in some of his letters that he could entertain quite well in a group, but I’d sort of had a hard time believing him. Watching him hold the center of attention with a story about his step-father and a potato gun I realized that I didn’t know him as well as I thought. His facial expressions and body language were new to me. It was lack of familiarity that made me uncomfortable.

During the time we had spent on the phone, we’d grown accustomed each other’s tone of voice and style of speech, but that had occurred over the space of a month. That day at the One meeting it felt like there was already supposed to be this sort of dynamic between us and yet we couldn’t seem to make it work in person.

The next day we finally sat down and asked the hard question: why doesn’t this feel right, and what should we do about it? I knew that somehow I was not ready for some part of this journey, and I had to be honest about that. With that said, we both had to let go of all our hopes and plans. A very painful moment, I must say.

At the end of it, we were back where we’d started. Friends. And all of a sudden it was like we were meeting for the first time with no strings attached. We went out for dinner at Taco Bell and talked the way we had before during our six-hour conversations over the phone. Once again I could see the man with whom I’d fallen in love, and yet every time I let myself think about marriage my mind rebelled in earnest.

We had planned long ago to take the opportunity during his last couple of days in the area to drive to Vermont and visit my parents. Lyon had corresponded with my dad and Janine a few times, and Janine was particularly looking forward to meeting him. The drive out there was long and aggravating. We were both worn out and feeling disappointed when we arrived. Dinner was on the table, though, and my little sisters were excited to see us, so up went the smiles on our faces. Later in the evening when the girls were in bed, we all went into the living room to talk.

I had spoken with Janine earlier that day over the phone, so she knew that things weren’t going so well. She did her best to ease the tension and spark some interesting conversation. I was struck by an overwhelming desire to talk to my dad alone, so I thought of some reason why we had to excuse ourselves upstairs. Up in his room I poured out the story of what had happened and explained to him why I was feeling so confused and upset. He listened intensely, offering words of comfort and some fatherly advice. I was struck by the fact that the situation had caused me to have one of the most open and honest conversations with my father that I had ever had, and I felt safe in doing it. It was my first glimmer of understanding of how important the law of consent is to family unity. I wanted to include my father in the whole process. Deep down, I respected his judgement.

Janine and Lyon stayed up talking in the living room late into the night. When I awoke the next morning, everyone was already up and dressed. Lyon’s flight was scheduled to leave from Portland that afternoon. Good-byes were strained. I wanted to stay amidst the comfort of family and home. I imagine Lyon was feeling a whole jumble of emotions. The drive back to Portland seemed agonizingly long. The closer we got, the stronger the pain in my heart became. I felt like I was losing my best friend. How could I let him go back to Montana without any reason to return? And yet, I couldn’t in good conscience ask him to come to Maine without any sort of commitment.

I went with him into the airport and we waited in line at the ticket counter to check in. Sitting there side-by-side on his footlocker full of clothes that had taken a useless journey, I felt for a second that closeness that I recognized from my previous relationship. It shocked me into looking up into his eyes and for one moment I saw it. That glimmer. The sparkle that you can always find in the soul of the one you love. I felt it, and yet I was afraid to trust it. So I let him go, through the security door where I could not follow. I felt a lump grow in my throat and knew I had to run for the car before the tears began to flow uncontrollably. I returned home to Orono with a heavy heart.

We’d already made plans for me to travel out to Montana on Greyhound the following week. Should I still go? My Aunt Kalista had said yes when I talked to her. She thought that maybe there was some piece of the puzzle that I was missing and might find out there. The chance to see Lyon with his friends and family and to meet his mom seemed like one worth taking. Yet I knew it was such a long ride, and right before school began. It was the ache deep down in my soul that stirred me to stick with the plan.

I emailed Lyon and told him I was definitely still coming. After a couple of painful, searching letters back and forth I received a phone call. Oh, how I had missed his voice! By some miracle my prayers had been answered. He’d decided to move out here to Maine anyway, even though I couldn’t give him a clear answer about whether or not I could consider marrying him. My heart swelled with joy. I was going to Montana to see my best friend in the world! And we would get to drive cross-country in a 1976 Mercury Monarch. What an adventure!

I left on the bus the following Saturday morning filled with excitement and happiness. After three and a half weeks traveling alone in Europe that spring, I was used to meeting up with strangers and becoming companions for several hours at a time. As far as New York City, my seat-mate was a 14-year-old girl on her way home to Michigan. She thought I was about 16 when she first saw me and was a bit disappointed when she discovered I was 21, but she survived. I didn’t have anyone really interesting to talk to after that until Chicago. From there my seat-mate was a guy my brother’s age from New York City on his way to Missoula, Montana for the bike trip of a lifetime. When I told him why I was on my way to Billings he looked a bit shocked, but covered it well. We had a really good time talking and I must admit he was pretty cute. When I realized I was thinking that, I asked myself what the difference was between him and Lyon. The answer came in a flash. Lyon had exhibited a huge capacity for spiritual growth and he loved Bahá’u’lláh so sincerely, so entirely.

After several moments of breathtaking scenery, and a lot of truck stops later, we arrived in Billings. We all got off the bus together, because Billings was a long stop. Lyon stood waiting just inside the lobby looking very different in a pair of Calvin Klein jeans, an off-white dress shirt and a black vest. He held a single long stem rose in his hand. His smile was relaxed and confident in a way I hadn’t seen before. We hugged and I introduced him to the folks I’d met on my trip. I watched them walk away for a moment before following Lyon to the car.

Billings was much bigger and more spread out than I had imagined it. The roads were incredibly wide and there were shopping complexes everywhere. On first impression, I didn’t like it. The overall surrounding scenery, though, was beautiful. Lyon took me up to the Rimrocks, and from there I could see out over the valley to the mountains. Montana is nicknamed Big Sky Country. The sky isn’t really any bigger than anywhere else, but it’s a strange feeling to see the horizon so much further away in all directions.

After watching the sunset, and the flickering lights of the city, we headed home to Lyon’s mother’s apartment. I felt a bit uneasy at first because I didn’t know what she and Dan, her husband, were going to think of me. We sat down to a delicious meal and I got to ramble on about how great my trip was. I couldn’t stop talking about the fields of sunflowers in South Dakota that had all opened their faces to the early morning rays.

Later in the evening, we sat in the living room relaxing. Somehow the topic of pilgrimage came up. Diana, Lyon’s mom, wandered over from the kitchen to tell us the story of her experience visiting the mansion at Bahji. I knew right then and there, as I listened with sympathetic tears in my eyes, that I would love this woman to be my mother-in-law.

The following day Lyon escorted me around town, and I met a whole bunch of his friends. The weather had turned hot and humid that day, however, and I wimped out around two in the afternoon. We went back to Diana and Dan’s and talked. Diana had planned a going-away party for Lyon that night to be held at his sister’s house down the street. A little while before the party was to begin, Lyon and I walked to the store for some last-minute supplies. Along the way I tried desperately to memorize the names of everybody who would be there: two sets of grandparents, two uncles, a professor and his wife, his sister and brother-in-law. Yes, I was feeling just a bit overwhelmed, but Lyon promised to help me.

When we got there, several people had already arrived, including his mother’s parents, Gladys and Harold. I shifted around nervously for a while until Gladys found me and said, “Lyon’s a special boy, so I guess you’re pretty special too.” At first I felt uncomfortable about it being assumed that he and I were definitely getting married, but then I just let it go.

I joined Lyon on the couch where he was chatting with his grandfather. I’d been forewarned about Gladys being a camera fiend, so I was prepared when we were asked to get close for some photos. Lyon reached over and put his arm around me, and all of a sudden I felt as if I were exactly where I belonged.

The following day we were joined by Lyon’s good friend Troy, and off we went in his blue blazer to shop. I don’t mind shopping, but this was excruciating. In and out of the back seat, from one huge store to the next. By the end of the day I was completely frazzled and ready for a nap.

I was much happier about the plans for the following day to drive up Beartooth Highway. Troy had offered to get his brother’s truck to take us up there as the Mercury was already partially packed with stuff. We set out early in the morning so that we’d have time for last-minute errands in the afternoon. It took about an hour and a half to get up into the mountains. We stopped several times to take pictures and gawk at the view. Finally, not far beyond the border into Wyoming, we made our last stop.

Lyon had his heart set on showing me some pink snow. After sampling some to see if it really did taste like watermelon Jolly Ranchers, we climbed up to the summit of a huge pile of rocks. The view from there was unparalleled in my experience. It deserved an hour of thoughtful silence, but unfortunately we only had ten minutes. As we sat there I knew that Lyon had something he wanted to ask me and I busily thought of what to say to Troy so that he would understand that we needed a few moments alone. When he stood up and said we should head back, I told him we’d be down in a couple minutes. As Troy retreated into the distance I turned to look at Lyon. I saw recognition and happiness in his eyes.

That night, while Lyon was out doing errands, I asked Diana if she would give her consent. She was quiet, as happy tears rolled down her face. She had been ready to give us consent long before that day. When Lyon returned, we called his father whom I’d met the previous evening. He also was pleased and offered us his blessing. As for my parents, I thought it would be better to surprise them in person rather than over the phone, so we decided to take a slight detour to Vermont on the way home. The following morning we left Montana with full and happy hearts. Of course, even the happiest moments in our lives are not completely free from sadness. I started crying the moment we pulled away from the driveway and didn’t stop until we got to the highway. In the four days that I’d been there, Billings had begun to feel like home, and Diana and Dan had begun to feel like family.

The trip back east is a story for another issue. We learned a lot about each other during that week, especially during the two days we spent stuck in Goshen, Indiana with transmission problems. When we arrived at my parent’s home unannounced, we received a very happy welcome. Actually, they did know we were coming, just not when. I’d called from Montana to let them know that Lyon and I were driving back and would be stopping in Vermont on the way.

With all that going on, somehow I hadn’t been in touch with them since the day I drove Lyon to the airport two and half weeks earlier. The day I called them from Montana was the first time they even knew that I’d decided to stick with the plan and go out there. So, needless to say, my dad was more than a little shocked when five minutes after we’d arrived I asked him for consent. I was pretty disappointed when he didn’t immediately jump up and down saying “Yes!” It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d be even the least bit concerned about the situation. That’s what I get for being so completely wrapped up in the details of my own life!

We stayed in Colchester for an extra day so that my parents would have more time to talk with us and think about the matter of consent. My poor dad. I’m sure his head was really spinning considering what we were asking of him. You see, Lyon and I had discussed months earlier the idea of getting married on November 26 and we still had our hearts set on that date. (Well, I did anyway, I shouldn’t speak for him.) We needed his consent in time for the folks in Montana to get airplane tickets for the wedding.

My dad’s big concern was that we’d only known each other in person for two and a half weeks. I think he did believe in his heart that Lyon and I would be happy together, but he also knew that there would be difficult times between us. He wanted us to go through that process together of learning to deal with the good times and the bad without the added strain of knowing we were stuck with each other.

It was hard accepting my father’s wishes. It felt like I had no control over the situation, and yet I knew that obeying the law of Bahá’u’lláh was the only thing to do. My dad did offer me some comfort by asking me to share with him from time to time over the next few months any obstacles or achievements in my relationship with Lyon. It made me feel much more secure knowing that he was willing to let us prove ourselves.

The morning we left for Maine, we all sat down and said prayers together in the family room. After the last prayer was read, my father looked up at me and said, “I looked at the calendar, and May 16 is a Saturday.” My mother’s birthday was May 16. That was about the biggest hint my dad could have given. We left feeling very well-loved. So, I returned only four days late to begin my last year at the University of Maine and Lyon found himself an apartment and a job with a temp service.

The ‘76 Monarch is dead; it sits in the parking lot of Lyon’s apartment complex. We’ve been through a lot of ups and downs this fall as we learned more and more about each other. We’ve grown so close and ever closer to Bahá’u’lláh.

That year Thanksgiving weekend meant so much more than just giving thanks for stuffing and mashed potatoes. That Saturday night as we sat by the fire, my father gave us a framed weave of two love birds that he had given to my mother years ago. With it he gave us consent. Moments later, we said a prayer for my mom, thanking her for helping my dad make the right decision.

We became officially engaged! Lyon bought me an engagement ring in North Carolina when we were visiting with my brothers. We’d just been to the grocery store and on the way out I asked Lyon if he would get me a ring. Paul and Ben chipped in the 50 cents to buy it. It’s gold, with red and blue spots, and a green stone. I saved the plastic bubble case so that I can pass it on to my children someday. I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

Cara wrote this story when she was 22. She and Lyon, now married, are enjoying their child, Lila, born spring 2005.