So, do you, like, paint houses or something?

During my second-to-last year at BYU, I had a huge, huge, monster of a crush on my Home Teacher, Mike. He was handsome, tall, soft-spoken, and really nice. You know, one of those guys you can tell is a good guy but so shy he pretty much doesn't ever talk. So, I tried really hard to pick up on clues as to things we could chat about, so, you know, he could go ahead and start falling in love with me.

One day early in the school year, he showed up to my appointment a little sweaty and wearing paint-spattered shorts. He apologized for his appearance and said something about how he'd been painting all day. Not knowing anything about him, I asked something along the lines of "So, do you, like, paint houses or something?" I thought it was a fair question, and I didn't mean to be condescending. Two of my brothers and one of my cousins spent a couple summers painting apartment complexes to help pay for school.

But, Mike got this "You really don't know?" look on his face, laughed in a slightly embarrassed way and said, "Um, no. I'm painting a mural in the library."

This mural.

For a larger photo with better resolution, click here.

To say I was embarrassed would be an understatement. Granted, why would I know he was an art major, or was painting a mural in a section of the library I almost never visited? Still, as a young woman with a crush, I could have died. But I soldiered through the rest of the appointment and the rest of the year, saying "Hi" to him and when I passed him in the halls or at church, and wishing he weren't so shy.

The next year, Mike wasn't my Home Teacher, but he was still in my ward. I continued to pine for him, but since I was a chicken and he barely knew I existed (I would later understand he just wasn't "that into me"), nothing happened.

Until the Spring.

My cousin's wife called me for some reason or another. This was a little significant because it's the only time I can remember her doing so. But she wanted to set me up with her neighbor. She told me about how nice and good-looking he was, and how he was always willing to help her out when she asked. She said he was a BYU student and we might get along.

Then she said his name: Michael Lenhardt.

I laughed. "Really? He's in my ward! He was my home teacher last year!"

She laughed too, and we agreed it was a funny coincidence.

I took that as my sign to ask him out... I figured I had nothing to lose. I had a crush on him and was leaving school in a few months anyway. My roommate, Jennifer, and I planned a low-key date. I asked him and although he was surprised he politely said yes.

We went hiking and then got ice cream after. Like I said, low key. To keep the conversation going, I asked him every question I could think of, but I'm afraid none of them were very interesting. By the time we got to the ice cream parlor, I was pretty sure he hadn't managed to fall in love with me. But, I had a good time, and was glad that I tried.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to Mike. I tried to Google him, but apparently the name is pretty common (I nearly passed out when I saw he'd been in a car accident... then realized it was some other guy). I hope Mike found a gorgeous, intelligent, charming, and kind woman and fell head-over-heels in love. I hope he's doing amazing work somewhere, and coaching his five kids in soccer during the summers.

Mike was the first guy --outside of high school dances -- that I ever asked out, and I'll always have a soft spot for him for that reason. I'm glad that I don't have to ask "What if?" And I'm glad that, even if he wasn't interested, he was still so nice to me!

Ah, memories!