Fifteen years ago today I was at Sizewell Hall, sitting down to a fish and chip supper, when I heard a quiet voice in my head telling me I was about to meet my husband.
I was on an away weekend with a friend who had dragged me along so that she could find a husband herself, and having recently decided I was finally ok with myself and not in any way desperate for a relationship, I was somewhat stunned when this happened. Keeping it to myself, I took a look and realised that there was only one guy on the table I was at all interested in. The chap diagonally opposite had himself been brought along by a friend. He too had recently finally decided he was ok with himself, having spent a month travelling in Australia. He introduced himself as Matthew, definitely not Matt.
The following day, after a drive in his car (he asked his friend to let me sit in the front) and a walk at Dunwich Heath where we were able to chat further and almost hold hands stumbling through the trees, we found ourselves back at Sizewell Hall playing Taboo with a number of others, realising that we were thinking along exactly the same lines and shared the same sense of humour. We found more connections as we talked and I learned that he worked at BT and had studied Engineering at Cambridge. I did an internal double-take. God must have realised that pairing me with someone who had (a) gone to Cambridge, a personal unrealised dream I’d had since I was eleven, and (b) got a degree in Engineering, a subject I worked at in industry and then for a year at university was something of a divine joke. Here was someone who epitomised my perceived failures in life. The fact I felt more comfortable with myself mattered here. I could see things in a more measured way. Having worked and studied alongside engineers for a couple of years, I had a good idea about the way these strange people think and how to relate well to them. Optimising. Worst case scenarios. Odd jokes.
The following day, the Sunday, as we prepared to leave, I got Matthew’s number and his surname: Robinson. I remember flirting badly and then being given the third degree from my friend on the way back, who hadn’t picked up any numbers herself.
We emailed for a few weeks, started dating and Matthew visited me in Prague where I was studying part-time that February.
We were married in 2003. We’ve only been back to Dunwich once (on our twelve-and-a-halfth anniversary) but we’ve had fish and chips quite a few times since. I am constantly grateful that I’ve got Matthew and that God instigated it all. Marriage takes effort and a lot of communication and commitment, but God knew what he was doing putting the two of us together.
Lucy, I loved your article about how you and Matthew met. 😀 I tried to “like” it, but the system won’t accept the password that I had registered (and which I’ve forgotten), and I’ve given up trying to make a new one. 🙄 Down with computers! 😛 My parents met at a house party back in 1937. My father said he fell in love with my mother at first sight, but it took her cousin several weeks to convince her that he really was a nice guy. He always said they were on a trial marriage. He would say, “We don’t believe in making hasty decisions. We’re trying it for 60 years, and if it doesn’t work it’s no go!” They made 63. ❤️ I wish you and Matthew at least that many years together (unless the Lord comes first, and I don’t anyone would complain about that! 😉) Blessings, Ruth
On Wednesday, November 23, 2016, jam and giraffes wrote:
> Lucy posted: “Fifteen years ago today I was at Sizewell Hall, sitting down > to a fish and chip supper, when I heard a quiet voice in my head telling me > I was about to meet my husband. I was on an away weekend with a friend who > had dragged me along so that she could fin” >
Ah bless – this is so sweet! (I really mean that, it’s a great story.)