This summer I’ve been busy with my in-laws. In June, we helped them move to a beautiful assisted living facility an hour north, where they were close to their daughter Carole Anne. However, they had to quarantine for several weeks, and then the place had an outbreak of COVID-19. After just two months we moved them back home and are now looking for other care options for them.

During the craziness, I retreated into my writing for several hours every week. Although I didn’t post often to my blog, I carefully crafted two submissions for Guideposts Magazine and Chicken Soup for the Soul.

Thankfully, the guidelines for Chicken Soup give me permission to use stories that I’ve previously posted on my blog. So I’m giving you a sneak preview of the story I submitted to Chicken Soup this month while I wait to hear if it’s been accepted.

Just FYI, this post contains no mention of my life in Africa. If you think of a way I can easily insert a sentence or two about that, please let me know! I sometimes have difficulty merging my two worlds.

Chance Encounter at El Baño

For Spring break during my senior year in college, I drove with a busload of fellow students to Mexico. We showed up, not to relax on a sandy beach, but to serve low-income families by entertaining the children every afternoon with games, crafts, and Bible stories. Each child also received a backpack filled with clothes and school supplies.

A base camp had been set up for the youth who arrived from around the U.S. Overnight, an empty lot on the outskirts of Mexicali transformed into “Tent City,” a bustling center of activity with nearly 1,000 kids and staff. Throughout the week, the camp supplied meals and security, and each group provided their own tents.

To manage hygiene needs, a row of a dozen outhouses was set up along the back fence. Nearby stood tables with water jugs and hand soap.

After we arrived, I quickly unpacked then chatted with a friend while waiting in line for los baños. “I know our goal is to help other people, but I’m hoping to meet a cute guy from another church.”

Before she could chide me, another girl’s voice interrupted us. “Debbie! Is that really you?”

Stepping to the side, I craned my neck and peered down the line of people waiting their turn for an outhouse.

Halfway back, was an old friend, Carole Anne, from the Bay Area where I had lived during high school six years earlier. We hadn’t kept in touch, but we hugged, chatted, and quickly caught up to date.

“How are your parents and brothers?” I asked. Her family had immigrated to California from Scotland, and the stories of their homeland intrigued me.

“They’re all doing fine. Chris is still in college and flying on the weekends, building up hours to get his instructor’s license.”

She grinned and her eyes twinkled. “Last week he broke up with his girlfriend.”

I twisted a strand of hair that had come loose from my messy bun. I suppose she thinks I’m interested. But I’m not. Chris and I had dated a couple of times in my senior year of high school. Even though he liked me a lot, my heart didn’t reciprocate, and I’d brushed him aside.

When the line moved us forward, we hugged good-bye. Throughout the week as I served with my church group and played with the children, I looked for that sweet friend, but I never saw her again. No eligible young man materialized for me either.

The next weekend, the phone rang as I was getting dressed for my job as a CNA at a convalescent hospital. I was surprised to hear Carole Anne’s voice. “I’ve got exciting news,” she said with a sing-song lilt to her voice. “Early on Easter morning, Chris took my boyfriend and me for a flight around the San Francisco Bay.”

She stopped and giggled, then continued. “The moment we crossed over the Golden Gate Bridge, the sun rose on the horizon, and Hank pulled a diamond ring out of his pocket. In the back seat of the single-engine plane, he proposed.”

“That’s so romantic! You’re lucky you have a pilot for a brother.”

“The wedding will be next spring. Would you be one of my bridesmaids? We had fun in high school, and I’d love for you to share in my wedding preparations.”

Several times over the next few months, I drove three hours north to spend the weekend with her, attending bridal showers and dress fittings. During each trip, Chris was coincidentally home from college.

He looked more handsome than I remembered, with new glasses and a stylish haircut. During conversations and dinners with his family over those next few months, I began to see him in a new light.

At the rehearsal, we promenaded down the aisle, two by two, and I gripped Chris’s arm. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

I glanced sideways at him and nodded. He patted my gloved hand and flashed a big smile. All the way to the chapel stage, my heart pounded against my ribs. I really like this guy, I realized.

The day after the wedding, I packed to drive back to my apartment at college. As I opened the car door, he placed his hand on my shoulder and kissed my cheek. “Could I visit sometime?”

“Sure! That’d be great.” I buckled my seat belt, waved out the window, and drove off.

Over the next couple of months, Chris wrote to me regularly. Who does that nowadays? I thought. I was so impressed that a guy would sit and write. Through his letters, I came to see him as strong and compassionate, humorous and articulate.

Soon Chris drove down to see me. He took me out to dinner, and we strolled around my college campus. Two weeks later I drove up to visit his family, and he took me for a plane ride to have lunch in the wine country. It was hard to return home and concentrate on school. After three months of long-distance dating, we knew we were in love.

When I told Carole Anne, she gave me a jumping hug. “After meeting you in line at the baños, I decided you and my brother would be perfect for each other,” she said. “So, I made sure to pair you together in the bridal party. My plan worked!”

* * *

Early in March of this COVID-19 pandemic year, just before international flying was curtailed, Chris and I flew to Scotland for a week. There in his homeland, we celebrated thirty-five years of marriage.

How crazy that a chance encounter in line for an outhouse would be the catalyst for our life-long love.