Virgin & The Trollop - Connie Smith, Michael Smith

Virgin & The Trollop (eBook)

A True Tale of Sexual Triumph for Christ-Honoring Couples

Connie Smith, Michael Smith (Autoren)

eBook Download: EPUB

2021 | 1. Auflage
228 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-0-9997260-5-1 (ISBN)

What happens when a Pastor-sold out for God and a virgin to boot-falls madly in love with a newly Christian woman with a checkered past?From their first date over Italian cuisine to the decade they spent struggling to create passionate sexual connection, "e;The Virgin & the Trollop"e; chronicles an unlikely love story in bare-bones transparency. With their signature wit and self-deprecating humor, Michael and Connie Smith take us on a bittersweet journey into the realities of perfect, Christ-honoring love between two imperfect people. Through painful recollections, hopeful prayers, and the healing of two shattered souls, the Smiths happen upon a Garden of marital bliss. What follows is an epiphany so profound they cannot help but share their story with other couples who long for the same in their Marriage Bed.

PART TWO

CONNIE AND PALS

“There are three things that amaze me—no, four things that I don’t understand.”
Proverbs 30:18

I. NEVER SAY NEV—

I fell for Connie Marie Leskovec like a sandcastle at high tide; I was washed out to sea. When I reappeared on the shore, I was no longer alone. She was perpetually by my side. We were head over heels, the picture-perfect collision of sonnets and rom-coms. Our starry-eyed connection was obvious to all. Friends, family, and strangers commented on it everywhere we went.

The whole affair took me by surprise. I’d been busy about my Father’s business the day I saw her standing there. No bookseller’s romance section is broad enough to contain the scope and scale of our epic, but suffice it to say the story of our love is Heaven-blessed. Connie is the only woman I’ve ever called on the phone and the only woman I’ve ever asked out. The preacher who swore he’d never marry wound up proposing on his first-ever date. We met the last Friday in January; we married the first Saturday in August. Twenty years later, we still can’t get enough of each other.

II. MY FUTURE IN AN INSTANT

I got Connie’s telephone number from a mutual friend and called her on a Thursday evening, respectfully telling her I had no intentions of wasting her time or mine.

“I’m calling because I believe it may be the Mind of the Lord for us to be together,” I said. “I don’t know how I’ll feel next week, next month, or next year, but if you’re interested in walking out the next steps with me, I’d love to get together sometime.”

We agreed to meet after church that Sunday, but I couldn’t endure the forty miserable hours waiting to see her. I called her the next day to gauge her interest in grabbing a late-night bite after Bible study. She said yes before I could finish asking.

I was smitten with Connie the instant she walked through the oak- and-glass door of Carrabba’s, laid flat by the Light of her smile and unable to recover. A singular thought boomed in my mind as we chatted away the minutes waiting for our table: only a fool lets a woman like this get away. To me, spending the rest of our lives together was a foregone conclusion before “Smith, party of two” crackled through the overhead speaker. The only thing left was to work through the details.

Though I’m persuaded by Scripture there is no such concept, Connie and I made it clear to both our families we had met the one and were looking forward to making formal introductions. My mother, who was as shocked as everyone else that I had actually called a girl and invited her on a date, needed a few days to warm up to the idea. “How do you have time for a woman in your life when all you do is work? Are you sure about this, son?” I was.

As I left for church the Sunday following our first date, I was startled to discover my mother sitting alone in the dawn light, praying quietly on the sofa. She lifted her head as I entered the living room; a familiar, settled expression washed across her face. The Lord had spoken. “I’m at peace about you and this girl,” she said. “I believe this relationship is of God, and I also believe the Lord told me her middle name is Marie. Ask her about it when you see her later today.”

“I will, Mom,” I assured her. She was right; Marie is the name.

III. MORE THAN A WOMAN

Connie and I talked ceaselessly on our first few dates. Four-and-a- half hours on Friday night. Six hours on Sunday. Four hours on Monday and four hours on Tuesday. We held nothing back and didn’t play games. We covered every topic—big and small—including the decision to name our first daughter Olivia. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this soul- splayed approach to other just-met couples, but it worked for us.

Despite our impossible schedules, we found a way to see each other nearly every day. When we weren’t able to get together in person, we talked on the phone. The pace and intensity of our romance was exhausting. We barely slept. We hardly ate. We could scarcely concentrate on anything other than each other. We had it bad in the best possible way.

A week or so into our love affair, I sat in the kitchen gushing to my family about the wondrous woman I’d fallen in love with. My three teenaged sisters seemed captivated by my fantastic tales but were also somewhat suspicious of the unknown enchantress who’d so suddenly charmed their big brother. They didn’t verbalize their skepticism, at least not to me, but their collective silence and tilted head-nodding during my romantic ramblings laid plain their uncertainty.

“What’s she like, Mike?” my mother asked, resting her elbows on the kitchen counter and cradling her chin atop her clasped hands.

“Oh, Mom,” I sighed. “She’s incredible. She’s smart. And funny. Compassionate and kind. She loves kids and is a true woman of Christ. We talk about everything, like we’ve known each other our whole lives. She is down-to-earth and disarming, easy to sit with and warm. I think you’ll really like her.”

“What does she look like?”

“She’s BEAUTIFUL!” I exclaimed, watching three little faces brighten under the spell of my inflection. “She has blonde hair, kind of short and wavy, pretty green eyes, and fair skin. She doesn’t wear a lot of make-up. I like that, I think. She looks real, not plastic or pretentious, if that makes sense.”

“No, son,” my mother pressed. “What does she look like? Is she tall? Short? Skinny? Fat? Full-figured? Slender? What does she look like?”

I was dumbstruck, unsure of exactly what she was asking or why. Apparently, the utter nonexistence of any female in my life since middle school had caused my mother to wonder whether her son had a “type” at all, and, if so, what it was. She was pining for a placeholder, a mental image she could attach to the formless female her son had become so enthralled with. My reply was as puzzling to her and my sisters as it was to me. “I don’t know, Mom. I haven’t looked.”

I was serious. I’d spent hours upon hours in Connie’s presence and never once looked at her body lustfully or even inquisitively. I’d seen her the same way I’d viewed every other woman since my conversion to Christ: as spirit and soul only. In all honesty, it didn’t even occur to me that Connie had a body until my mother’s query, but I promised her (and my sisters) I would chance a gander the next time we were together and report my findings. They all sighed in relief.

IV. A COMMON THREAD

The irony is that I did have some knowledge of Connie’s physical form. In late spring of 1999, nearly two years prior to our first date, a well-meaning female friend had mentioned Connie to me in passing, suggesting she might be someone worth meeting.

“Did you see the pictures from the church fashion show?” she inquired as I walked down the long cross-corridor of the church administration building. She was holding an open photo album, tapping one of the pictures with her pointer finger. “This is Connie. She was one of our swimsuit models.”

Trying not to be rude, I paused for a half-second glimpse at the bikini-clad girl in the photo, limiting my focus to her hair and face only. I pushed the rest of the image (everything from her neck down) into the blurry periphery of my gaze, the same way a cinematographer obscures the background in a close-up shot. I was aware she was a girl in a bikini, but I was not looking at a girl in a bikini. What actually caught my eye was her heavy make-up and strangely done hair, both a turnoff.

“Oh,” I replied as I turned and walked away. “I heard it was a great event.”

In her defense, my friend was sincere in her matchmaking mission, seeing me as someone worthy of love, someone she believed would relish the wonders of romantic companionship if given the chance. Unfortunately, I still saw myself as a semi-cloistered monk. I brushed off the entire exchange just as I’d done other well-intentioned efforts over the years—without so much as a second thought about the girl in the photo or her bikini.

About six months later, another friend insisted I make time to introduce myself to a “super-sweet” teacher she’d met in the church’s nursery. I politely declined.

“Are you sure ?” she asked playfully. “She has a really cute shape and a nice tushy.” Her mischievous tone offset the blatancy of her words, causing me to pause and process what she’d said. I knew she wasn’t trying to...

Erscheint lt. Verlag	20.9.2021
Sprache	englisch
Themenwelt	Sachbuch/Ratgeber ► Gesundheit / Leben / Psychologie ► Partnerschaft / Sexualität
ISBN-10	0-9997260-5-6 / 0999726056
ISBN-13	978-0-9997260-5-1 / 9780999726051

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