What a forgotten list, a season of healing, and an old friend taught me about God’s timing
When I was nineteen years old, I wrote a list.
Not a prayer list.
Not a vision board.
Not a Christian exercise.
Just a handwritten list of qualities I hoped I would someday find in a husband.
At the time, I hadn’t yet rededicated my life to Christ.
I wasn’t trying to hear from God.
I wasn’t trying to manifest anything.
I was simply trying to learn from a relationship that I knew wasn’t right for me.
So I sat down and wrote down the qualities that mattered.
Then I tucked the list away.
And life happened.
The Relationship I Couldn’t Let Go Of
The ironic thing is that even though I knew the relationship wasn’t healthy, I eventually went back.
If I read my journals from that season today, the red flags are obvious.
The younger version of me saw them.
She wrote about them.
She questioned them.
She even tried to walk away.
But then my father died.
And grief has a way of changing the questions you’re asking.
Instead of asking:
Is this healthy?
I found myself asking:
How do I survive this loss?
Looking back now, I can see something I couldn’t see then.
I wasn’t simply returning to a relationship.
I was trying to fill an absence.
Somewhere along the way, I had transferred affection, dependency, and emotional security from my father to someone who was just as broken as I was.
I needed to feel needed.
I needed to feel chosen.
I needed to feel like someone could help hold together pieces that felt shattered.
The problem was that neither of us was equipped to do that for the other.
The Work Had Already Started
One of the things I’ve learned over the years is that healing is rarely a single moment.
It’s usually a process.
Long before Oji and I rekindled our friendship, I had already begun doing the work.
I had rededicated my life to Christ.
I was learning who I was apart from my past relationships.
I was beginning to understand that no person could carry the weight of healing wounds that only God could heal.
That didn’t mean I was finished.
Far from it.
But the foundation was already being laid.
The year before Oji and I reconnected was a year of intentional growth.
A year of rebuilding.
A year of prayer.
A year of learning how to be okay with myself.
A year of becoming.
Then Oji Reappeared
Oji and I had known each other since 1992.
We graduated high school together in 1996.
Then life carried us in different directions.
Years later, after both of us had spent nearly a decade in long-term relationships, we found ourselves in similar places.
Single.
Healing.
Growing.
Learning who we were as adults.
We reconnected as friends.
Nothing more.
At least at first.
Before We Were Us
One of the things people often assume about long marriages is that the relationship began with romance.
Ours began with conversation.
Daily conversation.
When Oji and I began talking again, many of our conversations centered around faith.
He was growing in his walk with God.
I was growing in mine.
We exchanged books.
Shared teachings.
Discussed Scripture.
Recommended authors.
Talked about purpose.
Talked about life.
What started as friendship became a place of encouragement.
Not because either of us had all the answers.
But because we were both growing.
Before we fell in love, we learned how to talk to one another.
Looking back, that may have been the most important foundation of all.
Why I Didn’t Fall Apart
Several months after Oji and I reconnected, I entered one of the most difficult seasons of my life.
I lost my job.
The future became uncertain.
There were moments when I had more questions than answers.
But looking back now, I can see something I couldn’t fully appreciate then.
I didn’t completely fall apart.
Not because I was strong.
Not because I had all the answers.
And not because Oji somehow rescued me.
I didn’t fall apart because Christ had already begun rebuilding me.
The prayers.
The Bible studies.
The journaling.
The difficult lessons.
The healing work.
The friendships God had placed in my life.
All of it had been preparing me for a season I didn’t know was coming.
By the time the storm arrived, the roots were already growing deeper.
And during that season, Oji became a steady anchor.
A friend.
A listener.
A source of encouragement.
Someone who consistently showed up.
Chi Chi Saw Something First
One of my best friends from high school, Chi Chi, knew both of us.
At the time, she was planning her wedding.
One day she gave me what seemed like ridiculous advice.
“Ask Oji to be your date.”
I laughed.
Her wedding was in October.
Oji was a football coach.
Anyone who knows football understands that October and football coaches rarely mix.
But she insisted.
So I asked.
His response was simple.
“If I’m available, I will most certainly be your date.”
At the time, it felt like an ordinary conversation.
Looking back, it feels like one of those moments God quietly tucked into the story before either of us knew where it was headed.
Then I Found the List
At some point during that season, I came across the list I had written years earlier.
I remember reading it.
Then laughing.
Not because it was unrealistic.
Because it was unexpectedly familiar.
One by one, I realized the qualities I had written down years before described the man I had been talking to every day.
Not perfectly.
Not magically.
Not like a movie.
Just honestly.
The things that mattered most to nineteen-year-old me had somehow found their way into the character of the man sitting on the other end of those phone calls.
And I hadn’t even noticed.
What I Know Now
One thing Oji has always said is that a person will never truly commit until they are ready.
You can’t force readiness.
You can’t manufacture commitment.
You can’t build permanence out of pressure.
Neither of us was trying to force a relationship.
Neither of us was trying to rescue the other.
Neither of us was looking for someone to complete us.
We were simply becoming ourselves.
And somewhere in that process, friendship became something more.
The List Knew Before I Did
Today, we are celebrating fourteen years of marriage.
Later this year, we will celebrate seventeen years together as a couple.
And sometimes I think about that nineteen-year-old girl sitting down to write a list she would eventually forget.
If I could talk to her now, I wouldn’t tell her who she was going to marry.
I wouldn’t tell her how the story ends.
I’d simply tell her:
Keep healing.
Keep growing.
Keep trusting God.
Keep becoming.
The right person won’t require you to become someone else.
He’ll recognize who you’ve been becoming all along.
Looking back, I don’t think the miracle was that Oji matched the list.
The miracle was that by the time we found each other again, we had both become the people we needed to be.
God wasn’t just preparing my future husband.
He was preparing me.
Scripture Reflection
“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.”
Psalm 37:4
Selah.
© 2026, Lela Fagan. All rights reserved.
