I was a young single mom with a four month old baby the first time I met my future husband. To his eternal chagrin, he doesn’t remember. We met at one of my good friend’s parents’ house for Easter dinner. We sat across from one another during the meal. At some point during the day, he showed me a photo of his girlfriend, but I don’t think we talked much.

I remember hearing him discuss philosophy with my friend’s dad in the next room later on. I liked the sound of his voice.

Three years later, my friend was getting married to his good friend, and we were both invited.

I don’t remember my official title, but it was my job to make sure the wedding day went off without a hitch – I was helping set things up the day before and the day of. It was right in my wheelhouse – I like being the anonymous, behind-the-scenes person who makes things happen. Since I knew I’d be busy that weekend, I’d left my now-three-year-old son with my parents.

My future spouse was going to be delivering a message at the ceremony in his vocation as a future priest. He was leaving for seminary in Chicago in two weeks.

I realized before the rehearsal dinner that in my hasty packing, I had brought clothes for the wedding, but nothing for the dinner. My friend’s sister came to the rescue with a bright pink skirt that was cute, but something I never would have chosen for myself.

I was only dimly aware of him at the dinner, but he told me later he noticed me and asked another friend at the gathering who I was. We both went out with a group of friends to a bar afterward. On the way there, I told him about my son and showed him a photo I had in my wallet. I recall an awkward game of darts.

On the day of the wedding, we crossed paths a number of times as we were both there ahead of time to help make things happen. I remember us being aware of each other’s orbits during the day.

At the ceremony when he delivered his “sermon,” he compared his entering the priesthood to the commitment of marriage, and I thought, “We’re going to be laughing about this in a year,” even though I don’t even know if we’d had a real conversation yet.

Later, at the reception, I saw him watching me across the dance floor, and knew we were both in trouble.

We danced all night, and sat out on a little side porch and talked. After the wedding, a group went out again to the bar. I remember sitting at a little table shoulder to shoulder and ear to ear trying to talk over the noise of the bar.

Our last stop was a pizza place near the bar for a late night meal. He didn’t have any cash with him, so I paid for our first date. At one point, he reached across the table and held one of my hands in both of his, and it was electric.

He asked for my information so we could stay in touch, and gave me his. I knew he was off limits and it couldn’t come to anything. By the time I got on the computer back at home to check my email, he’d already written. We spent hours on the phone in the next few days, and I  barely slept at all.

When his mom came a couple of weeks later, a trip that had already been planned as a send off to the priesthood, she met me instead.

I am still amazed at how gracious our parents and friends were in the madness of it all. No one ever told me I was crazy or tried to talk me out of it.

We were married just two months after we met, at the beach with a group of about 30 friends and family on a Wednesday evening.

This summer we’ll celebrate 12 years of marriage.