Barbara Lynn-Vannoy - The 10 Greatest Gifts We Give Each Other: A Memoir on the Magic of Marriage Vows

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Littleton, Colorado, February 2006

Never do this for a man! I yelled over my shoulder to my thirteen-year-old daughter, Katie. I sprinted faster toward our house to save me time. Why did I give myself only an hour? Id just stuffed two leashes into Katies handsone leash leading to an eighty-pound puppy, and the other to a twelve-pound bichon frise. I felt a pang of guilt. Was I a bad mom? I halted and whirled around to check. Yep. The bichon, Honey, and the lab, Cooper, had lassoed Katie by her ankles on the greenbelts path. And the look on Katies face? Bewildered. Frantic. Perturbed. Are you my mother?

My soul answered yes. Choosing to race toward a man began my marriage journey.

Steve had called me during our dog walk and asked if I could meet himfor the first timefor a hike. My response was honest, unexpected, but reasonable for a woman who hadnt dated in twelve years: But I havent bathed in three days.

For reasons unknown, Steve persisted. Id love it if you took a shower and came over. When can you be here?

Thirty minutes later, I pulled out of my driveway. I pressed the radio on as I drove to his house. I couldnt believe it.

Serendipity had pulled up a chair, held my face in its hands, and whispered, Dont miss this. Andrea Bocelli and Celine Dions rendition of The Prayer filled my SUV. Of the thousands of songs tooling around inside my head, this one happened to strike a life-changing chord a month earlier.

The song had made a cameo appearance during my first-grade Christmas party. A group of unusually chummy moms encircled my deskso chummy, in fact, that for the first time in my career, I shed my teaching armor and became a mere mortal. As I opened my loot of Christmas gifts, these women watched in earnestness, hoping their childs gift would become legendary. My students sat in circles playing a listening game about passing an object either to the left or right. The room moms thought it was a great game; I knew better. I knew it was nothing less than six-year-old torture. Twister mind torture.

I turned left myself, toward the quiet town of Morrison, away from my suburban house bordering a beltway carrying 100,000 cars per day. Steve lived in Willow Springs, an exclusive community cushioned from the hum of suburbia. The twenty-minute drive gave me time to rehearse my story of how he popped into my life:

At my teachers desk, I had ripped open a gift wrapped in metallic red paper and turned it right side up. Andrea Bocelli and Celine Dions sepia faces graced a CD cover that featured their glorious duet, The Prayer. To this day, I believe the song was recorded in a heavenly studio in some secret chamber. Its the only song that brings tears to my eyes, no matter how many times Ive heard it.

I touched the CD cover, sighed, and, looking to the heavens, uttered the words that would change my life: If I ever get married again, I want this song sung at my wedding.

I wanted it sung because even though I was a singer, it was out of my octave league.

Our Junior Achievement parent volunteer, Gail, leaned close to me, touched my arm, and asked loudly, Are you dating anyone?