Three months is a short time when drawing a severance. Three months feels like ages when you are in love and cannot speak to or see the one in which you are in love.

Knoxville’s long spring with its blossoming dogwood trees, verdant lawns, and short skirts went unnoticed as I clung to slim hope of gaining back relational commitment. Like a guillotine, summer decapitated all possibility. She was moving to Florida to stay with her mom and I was going back to work at the summer camp where our love first grew. The commitment we made to each other was no contact all summer. No phone calls. No letters. (Email and texting did not yet exist).

I entered camp with an apathetic attitude. She and I had been head counselors together for two prior summers there. Now I felt lost and alone but for her best friend and roommate who was working as a counselor and was my one link to Florida. I knew they would be communicating on occasion.

With dim hope I befriended another female counselor and tried a go at some semblance of interest but couldn’t muster any lasting affection. Even with her I spoke of my longings to be back with my former girlfriend. Miserable and lost I spent my days going through the motions of a camp counselor while waiting for the fall University semester to begin. I knew that misery might only deepen if nothing changed.

The last week of camp I had made plans to have lunch with my ex-girlfriend’s roommate. As noted before, she was a counselor at the camp that summer. We were also friends from early childhood. Outwardly, it was a friendly gesture to hang out. Inwardly, it gave me the opportunity to sit in the lobby of the apartment complex on the off chance that I might run into my ex-girlfriend. That I used her for selfish gain is a real possibility.

The night previous I was an emotional wreck. Excitement and dread coursed through my heart bumping the walls like shards of pottery. I didn’t know what to do or think so I prayed: “Lord, please either take away these intense feelings that I have for her, or change her heart towards me. I certainly don’t know how to continue to live in this struggle.”

I sat on the firm vinyl couch that the lobby provided for suitors and pizza delivery drivers, my knee bouncing up and down waiting for my friend so we could grab lunch. The elevator doors opened revealing book-bagged students heading to their next class or to the library to study. At the back of the small mob came my ex-girlfriend. Instead of following the group out the double doors, she broke off and came toward me.

She grabbed my hand, came in for a long hug, and began an explanation. The evening before, her roommate had displayed a framed picture from that summer at camp. In the picture was a group of counselors including myself. *She saw me in my summer tan from the daily coaxing of kids upon water skis. I was wearing a blue chambray shirt. All resolve from the past three months of continuing the break-up fell apart. She knew that she wanted to be back with me. Having confided such to her roommate, they made the plan to switch places. I would now be going to lunch with Holly.

Thanks to Jesus and chambray, I’ve been going to lunch with Holly for over 30 years.

* But for Jesus, it could have been a fever-induced decision since she was diagnosed with strep throat soon after. It could have been any dude in a summer tan and chambray.