Our Fortieth – Started As a Romantic Lie – Brad Jersak

How I met Eden Jersak.

The Laugh of Freedom:

First, I heard her laugh and it sounded like freedom.

Let me back up. I was a first-year—make that first week—very single college student from a small town now plunked in a cafeteria of over 900 students, half of them young women. The imagined prospects were overwhelming, and I caught myself gazing at someone a few tables over. Her hairspray, eyeshadow, and lipstick gave off an 80s Barbie-doll vibe. As I scanned to see how obvious my ogling had been, I noticed at least two other guys gawking at the same girl. My gut reaction was, “Ew… creepy.” Please remember that I was an 18-year-old.

And that’s when I heard Eden’s arresting laughter. “I turned around to see the voice” (Rev. 1:12) and saw her in a simple bob, no makeup, sweatshirt, and jeans. Naturally pretty—so naturally that she was even pouring herself a glass of milk. I looked up from her big smile to notice, for what seemed like the first time in my life, a brunette with blue eyes.

My very first thought was, “Now that’s probably more like the woman I’ll marry.” Seriously. But now was not the time to meet her.

Our Fake Engagement:

A few weeks later, all the students received a package of coupons from various businesses in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan (15 minutes away), hoping to lure new customers from the incoming student body. I noticed an invitation to a free photo session and 8×10-inch portrait. I was not at all photogenic and very insecure about getting my picture taken. But it also seemed like a good value, so I cooked up a prank. I would get fake engagement photos taken and send them to my parents, as if I had met a girl, fallen in love, and spontaneously planned to get married less than a month after leaving home. Again, please remember that I was an 18-year-old.

But I needed an accomplice. So, without even knowing her name, I stalked Eden to her seat in the dining hall, knelt beside her, and said, “Hi. My name is Brad and… this may sound strange, but I’m wondering if you could help me. You seem like a fun person, and I want to play a trick on my parents…” I laid out the plan and asked if she’d do the sitting with me.

She may not have agreed but her best friend, sitting next to her, had already noticed me with some interest and said, “That’s the guy, that’s the guy.” She nudged Eden into the plot and with my own roommate, the four of us headed into town.

At the studio, while climbing a set of stairs, Eden asked, “So what is your last name anyway?”

“Jersak,” I said.

A puzzled look.

“Jersak,” I repeated.

You see, Eden is of Mennonite extraction, and a Czech name is not on the approved list with Wiebe, Rempel, Friesen, Thiessen, etc.

“And what are we going to tell the photographer?”

Now, I could have easily just said, “We are getting fake engagement photos for a prank on my parents,” but weirdly, that didn’t occur to me. Instead, I told her to follow my lead as I weaved a yarn about how and where we met, and our plans to be married.

A little advice: when interested in romantic connection (and I was), outing oneself as a brazen liar is not a great first impression. But that’s how it went. The photographer was enthusiastic enough about our dreamy tale to put us through over a dozen cuddly poses. I was thrilled and began praying he would suggest a kiss (I dared not myself). Later, I discovered Eden had the same thoughts but was praying he would NOT suggest a kiss. Her prayers have always been stronger.

“The Girl in the Photo”

When the photos (and a stack of free proofs) were developed, I delivered the framed portrait to my parents with the good news. I was impressed and disappointed that they didn’t fall for it at all. And worse, that the girl in the photo started dating someone else.

The story of how a long friendship finally morphed into real engagement photos in our senior year is too long to share, but I found it comical that through all those years, that portrait sat proudly on my parents’ living room stereo cabinet. When I would take other girls home to meet them, they would always ask, “What is she doing there?” and my mother would always furtively ask, “When are you bringing her home?”

Eventually I did. And we were married on August 1, 1986—on a hot Friday night, forty years ago—almost four years after first “engagement.”

“What’s Your Secret?”

People never really ask us that. But I will tell you anyway.

I don’t want to give away everything, but here are three nuggets:

1. Eden turned my failures into grace. I’m not the only one to notice that I married a saint. But Eden wasn’t born that way. My contributions to her saintliness have been significant—namely, my fiascos and humiliations. She’s an alchemist of grace who made my cockups her opportunity to shine—the scars she bears notwithstanding.

2. I wake up every day. This is a miracle or dumb luck. Here is my trick: morning after morning, I simply wake up with the pillow under my head rather than over my face.

3. Eden leaves the big decisions to me. Gerry Gouldthorpe taught me this. He was the dad of that kind friend who convinced Eden to risk that first portrait with me. He urged me to delegate all the little decisions to Eden: she decides where we live, where we work, when to move, what house to buy, when and how many children to have… the little things. And she trusts me with all the big decisions: what books should be considered canonical, should Canada join the EU, whether there’s enough ice on the moon for a space station… the big things. The division of labor has worked well.

That’s all for today. I’ve been posting anniversary stuff since June, so many people have already wished us well. At our age, landmarks are celebrated over weeks and months, not just one day.

P.S. Oh, here is our prophetic portrait! September 1982:

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