In November 2005, I wrote a prayer on a sticky note, folded it up tightly, and put it in a little basket on my desk.

“I pray for the life of the man I will marry. I pray for him to be strong, to be handsome, to be of joyful heart & utmost integrity. I pray he has eyes to see me fully.”

(Read that last line again. It’s really important for the rest of the story.)

When I wrote that prayer, I had been single for eight years following a divorce.

Ever since the betrayal that led to the marital crash-and-burn, I’d draped tarps of cynicism and self-protection over parts of my heart. I’d suppressed bits of my personality to try to blend into new situations and relationships. I’d shelved my true aspirations, instead carrying around a desperate quest for companionship. I’d played small so as to not ruffle feathers or make myself a target.

After all that time in hiding, I missed me.

Finally, I arrived at the place I’d heard people talk about but wasn’t convinced was real: the “I’m content and if it’s meant to be, it will be” place. (How’d I get to this place? Stay tuned; I’ll share more about that part of the story in another blogcast.)

I stopped putting aspects of my life on hold waiting for my forever-someone. I began house shopping, booked trips, and found a financial planner to guide my investments. I even went on dates truly just for fun—no expectations. Most importantly, I ceased hiding or denying the real me.

It was joyous to pull back the tarps to find I was still there, untarnished and ready to sparkle again.

Interestingly, I discovered deep roots of faith in the “I’m content and if it’s meant to be, it will be” place. You see, at last, I was operating as the real me, so everyone I encountered now got the truth and nothing but the truth. If they liked me, they liked the real me. And if they didn’t like me, all good—because I liked me no matter what.

It was there—in the contented place—that I penned that brief note to God that concluded “I pray he has eyes to see me fully.”

Six months later, in May 2006—after a couple of solo trips to fun destinations, very seriously house hunting, taking the helm of a creatively challenging work project, and training for a half-marathon, I walked into a studio to record an original song I’d written for a client.

As I entered, the guitar player hired for the session smiled and stood to shake my hand. I immediately thought “wow, he’s cute.” As we started chatting, I noticed one of his eyes wasn’t fully focused. After a few minutes of conversation, I realized he couldn’t see me at all.

Regardless of his lack of vision, it was love at first sight. (Ba-dum-dum) We got married in December of that same year.

Two months after our simple and sweet intown elopement. I decided to share with my husband about my practice of writing prayers on sticky notes and putting them in the tiny basket on my desk. Once or twice a year, I revisit those prayers and, if there’s been a change in circumstances, I move the sticky note over to a pretty, lidded porcelain dish to make room in the basket for new notes to God.

It had been longer than usual since I’d put a prayer in the basket, let alone checked on the ones already in there. After all, I’d had quite a busy year!

I retrieved the skinny, orange sticky note with the prayer from November 2005 and read it out loud:

“I pray for the life of the man I will marry. I pray for him to be strong, to be handsome, to be of joyful heart & utmost integrity. I pray he has eyes to see me fully.”

My eyes filled with tears as I realized how cleverly God answered the prayer I’d tucked away just over a year before. I married someone whose eyes don’t work but who sees me—the real me—fully.