Fisher’s Of Men – or – How I Met My Husband.

I am 22 when my boyfriend decides to dump with the classic line of “It’s not me, it’s you.”

I am crushed.

Inconsolable even.

Drunk on Hagen Daz ice cream and dreams of what could have been (AKA self-pity in over drive), I am a horrible mess. In a moment of what I can only call pure desperation, I reach for my Bible and start talking to God.

He Dumped me! Can you believe he dumped me? I’ll never get married. My life is ruined. What am I going to do God?

Flip, Flip, Point.

I looked down to see where my finger had landed.

“Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” (Matthew 4:19 for you purists)

Fishers of Men? Really God?I’m in! Yeah!

I put down my bible drive to the mall and buy myself the BEST fishing wardrobe minimum wage can buy. You know, little black dress, red lipstick and fish net stockings. Shortly after that I pack up my little bag of sorrows, leave Redford and moved to Chicago where I spend the next few years participating in the catch-and-release program.

Not to be confused with the prison release program, which is something entirely different.

Okay, if I’m counting the guy I met in front of the Sears Tower that one Spring, not really.

But there you are.

One day I meet this really cute guy at work who gets me to go out with him by hawking the fact he plays guitar in a rock band. We’d only gone out a couple of times when he calls to tell me he wants to take me to church on our next date.

I thought he was speaking figuratively and dressed accordingly.

Do you know he took me to church?

For real?

Wow, am I popular. I even meet the woman’s auxiliary. They call themselves “The Church Basement Ladies.” I am not making that up. I ask them what they do and they tell me they mostly sew quilts and cook supper for Jesus.

Now I was not raised in the church but even I know it’s been at least 2,000 years since Jesus walked the earth so either these ladies were pulling my leg, or they’ve held up remarkably well.

Best,

Deana