Love Was Never Loud
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud… It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
— 1 Corinthians 13:4, 7 (NIV)
If someone asked me to describe our courtship in one word, it wouldn’t be romance.
It would be peace.
Not because life had suddenly become easy.
It hadn’t.
Both of us were rebuilding our careers.
Both of us carried the lessons of previous relationships.
Both of us were seeking God’s direction for what came next.
Yet somehow, in the middle of all that uncertainty, being together felt remarkably… peaceful.
Looking back, I realize peace wasn’t the absence of questions.
It was the presence of trust.
Once our relationship had a name, life settled into a beautiful rhythm.
Football was in its offseason, which meant Oji wasn’t racing from one practice field to another.
For the first time, we had something neither of us had enjoyed very often.
Time.
Sometimes he would come down from Albany and attend church with me.
Other weekends we met in Manhattan.
We wandered from 34th Street toward 42nd Street, stopping wherever the day carried us.
Some afternoons were spent in Prospect Park, where the pace of Brooklyn slowed just enough for conversation to become the only agenda.
We discovered little restaurants.
Browsed bookstores.
Caught shows.
Shared desserts we probably didn’t need.
We weren’t trying to fill the day.
We were simply enjoying each other’s company.
Looking back, I think we were learning one of the greatest gifts a marriage can have.
We genuinely liked each other.
Conversation remained our favorite destination.
We talked about Scripture.
Football.
Books.
Leadership.
Purpose.
Family.
Dreams.
Sometimes we solved the world’s problems over dinner.
Other times we laughed until one of us forgot what the original conversation had been about.
Neither of us was trying to impress the other.
We were simply becoming known.
One of my favorite memories from that season came during a birthday weekend for Oji’s college friend, Will.
His girlfriend, Toni—who would later become his wife—planned a trip to New York’s Finger Lakes.
At the time, it felt like a simple getaway with friends.
Looking back…
I see another quiet breadcrumb.
We visited waterfalls near Cornell University.
Walked wooded trails.
Enjoyed country breakfasts where conversation lingered longer than the coffee.
We toured vineyards, including Bully Hill and Dr. Konstantin Frank Winery, discovering which wines and sparkling wines we both enjoyed.
There was no rush.
No pressure.
Just fresh air, friendship, and the simple joy of being present.
Years later, I would realize how close we had been to the place where we would eventually exchange our wedding vows.
At the time…
It was simply a beautiful weekend.
One memory from that trip has stayed with me more vividly than any photograph.
At the hotel, Oji insisted that I take the bed.
He quietly made himself comfortable on the couch.
It wasn’t the first time.
And it wouldn’t be the last.
Some people might see that as a small gesture.
I never did.
Respect has a language.
Sometimes it doesn’t speak through words.
Sometimes it quietly sleeps on the couch.
People occasionally ask me what made Oji different.
They expect stories about grand romantic gestures.
Expensive gifts.
Perfect dates.
The truth is much simpler.
He honored me.
He listened.
He protected my peace.
He made me feel safe.
Before he ever called me his wife, he consistently treated me like someone worthy of respect.
Long before I carried his last name, he reminded me—through countless ordinary moments—that dignity isn’t something a woman earns.
It is something a good man recognizes.
He made me feel like a princess…
Because he first treated me like a lady.
While our relationship was growing, so were our careers.
I was settling into my position at Visiting Nurse Service of New York.
The role began as a long-term temporary assignment, and much of the work had yet to be fully defined.
So I approached it the only way I knew how.
I worked as though I already belonged there.
Months later, the position became permanent.
Around that same time, Oji began sharing his hopes of pursuing an opportunity with the United Football League, a newly formed professional football league.
Like most dreams worth pursuing, it came with excitement and uncertainty.
Supporting him felt natural because he had spent months supporting me.
Long before we exchanged vows, we were already learning how to champion one another’s callings.
Looking back, I understand why this remains one of my favorite seasons of our relationship.
Nothing spectacular happened.
There were no engagement rings.
No wedding plans.
No moving trucks.
No dramatic declarations.
There were simply two people learning how to build trust one ordinary day at a time.
I used to think love was measured by life’s biggest moments.
Now I know better.
Love is often built in quiet places.
On city sidewalks.
Across restaurant tables.
Along wooded trails.
In conversations that outlast the meal.
And sometimes…
On a hotel couch that quietly says,
“You first.”
Years later, people still ask me what our courtship was like.
I usually smile before I answer.
Because before Oji ever became my husband…
He treated me like a lady.
And somewhere along the way…
He reminded me that I already was one.
Continue the Journey
Found in the Margins is an ongoing memoir series by Lela Jefferson Fagan, chronicling the unexpected ways God writes our stories through faith, family, purpose, and the moments that often seem insignificant until we look back.
Read the series on:
Next in the Series…
Found in the Margins: Part Ten
The Jersey, the Cheesecake, and the Greyhound
Love doesn’t always arrive wrapped in roses.
Sometimes it travels by bus, cheers from the stands, and believes in someone’s dream long before the world notices.
© 2026, Lela Fagan. All rights reserved.
