How my classmate became my friend and then my boyfriend and then my mortal enemy and then my best friend and then my devoted waiter and finally my husband.

Everyone has some version of a love story in their life. Whether it has come and gone (and you're patiently waiting for another) or you are in the very middle of it, it's there. I realize now that my story has kind of always been happening and I just didn't know it.

I first knew he existed on that day when I finally talked my mom into walking to Altara Elementary School to read the class lists posted on the main doors. Being a fairly organized almost third grader, I brought a pencil and paper along to write down the name of EVERY student in my class. I read the name, "Lane Russell". My little precocious mind immediately dismissed the fact that anyone could be named Lane and "Russell Lane" went down on my paper instead. That seemed so much more normal! I looked over that list nearly every day for the remaining few weeks of summer in anticipation. On the first day of school, I waiting patiently during the attendance to prove to myself that the school had indeed been wrong about his name, and I, an 8-year-old, was right. I was wrong.

Throughout third grade he proved to be my biggest competition at everything. He was a whiz at multiplication facts and always finished timed tests a few seconds before me. He also really liked reading and had a lot of AR (Accelerated Reader) points. I was too shy to be his friend, but I checked the AR list EVERY single day before I left school to see how many points he had. If he was even remotely close to my total AR points, I'd go home and read 1-2 books to destroy him in the morning. Our lives continued at this type of non-communicative, yet highly competitive level until fourth grade. Until the day he decided to write my best friend a letter. I remember where I was standing when she read the letter out loud for everyone in our class to hear. Among other things, he told her that he thought "Elizabeth" was really cute.

I died. 

I even pretended to be sick the following two days of school so I didn't have to face him. I ignored him so sufficiently that he gave up on me and decided to like my best friend instead. That bugged me. A lot. But we were 9-years-old and I couldn't do a thing about it.

Eventually we left elementary school and went to different middle schools. Now the only times I saw him were at Stake activities. And he was completely overjoyed to torture me every time he saw me. Let me just help you understand...I WAS ELIZABETH. No other name was acceptable. And every time he saw me he yelled, "LIZZY!" I hated it and he loved watching how it affected me.

Eventually MSN Messenger became a big thing and we became friends and started chatting. We started meeting up at Stake Dances and going to each other's neighborhood night games. I couldn't decide if I liked him because he still REALLY liked to torture me. And then we went to Youth Conference. I'm sure you all remember how significant completely everything that a boy does or says to you is when you were 15. Well, he asked me to dance nearly every slow dance. It was starting to bother me and I rolled my eyes when I saw him and his best friend, Andrew, heading over to me to "escort" me back to the dorms when the dance was over. On the way back they hijacked my (dry) body and placed it directly in some high-pressure sprinklers. I stood screaming my head off while Andrew held me in place and I watched him get behind the sprinkler and yank it right at me. The determination and joy on his face....it just got me. I liked that boy. That Lane Russell drove me up the wall like no one else...and I loved it.

Since we were 15 we really just hung out in large groups all the time. One night we planned to go see the midnight premiere of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. And he held my hand. And almost had a heart attack in the process because he was so nervous. And MY MOM was there so I almost had a heart attack, too.

I slowly fell more and more in love with him throughout that year. We never even kissed. A few days before Junior year of high school, he was acting weird. I texted him after we dropped him off at his house to ask if he was ok...and then he replied with a well-thought out break up text. This boy was my first love... Somewhere deep inside I had felt like we were supposed to get married someday. And it was over. He turned off his phone and left on a two week vacation. I fell on the floor of my room and sobbed. So mad that he hadn't faced me...so mad that he left without another word...so hurt...so completely heartbroken. It was awful. I went downstairs to find my mom on the computer. I fell on the ground again and cried while she held me and told me that I don't need boys to be happy.

Six months later she died. After my mom passed away, my 16-year-old self once again fell on the ground. This time outside of the room that I had just watched her die in. Through my sobs, I texted the four most important people in my life at that time. And one of them was Lane. Despite the fact that Lane and I had not spoken and I hadn't really even looked at him since our awful break up, he was there for me. I remember seeing his tear stained, pain-stricken face in the vast crowd after placing a rose on my mom's coffin.

Since we both loved my mom, we were pretty unsteady for awhile. We put the past behind us and became friends again. He was one of the only people who could make me forget the pain that my life had become. And for a beautiful two months we dated again. We both just needed someone to make it through with. This is when we first kissed. (I'll spare the details of that moment...it was a painful peck...but I loved it) Eventually, we maturely discussed that the reasons why we initially broke up (he needed to worthily serve a full-time mission and girls make that hard) were still valid. And we just ended things. Luckily all the weird stuff was out of the way and we became great friends.

When we went to BYU, we hung out often. We had many classes together and we ate lunch together every day. We were each dating other people and we would confide in each other constantly. I thought I had lost him forever romantically so I decided that being my best friend would do.

The day he left on his mission to Mexico, I sent him a text telling him I loved him. I didn't know why I did it and he didn't know how I meant it, so I left it at that. I then moved to Prague and thought of him often. I missed him so much--so much more than the other missionary that I had sent off. I didn't understand. I was a terrible writer, but we wrote back and forth a few times. And then I dropped the bomb...

I was going on a mission too! In fact, I already had my call to the New Jersey Morristown Mission.

The worst part was that I left two months before he got home. It made no sense except for the fact that I knew I was supposed to. And then in the middle of my second transfer, I got a package from a RM. It contained an awful shirt and an assortment of disgusting Mexican candy....and the best letter of my life. And I loved him again. He wrote me almost every week, always supporting and uplifting me. Eventually he confessed that he had decided on his mission that he wanted to date me when he got home...but due to the fact that he kept that to himself, I spontaneously changed his plans. We were apart for 3 1/2 years. And it was tough.

But then I came home. And that night after I was released, he came to my house. I just knew it was him when the doorbell rang. So I bravely walked to the door....and made faces at him through the window. He walked in and grabbed me in the biggest hug of my life. Soon after I allowed him to be the one to break my worldly music fast with me (love me some Goo Goo Dolls) and then I just watched him interact with all the people I loved. It was all so important and wonderful to me.

Three days later, I was looking at myself in the mirror and knew that I was supposed to marry him. He agreed. :)

We got married May 2, 2013.

My love story was always there--through the happy, the sad, the awful, and the difficult. It took 15 years for us to finally get married. But every single day we had to wait made us into who we are today. I'm pretty grateful for it all. Life as his wife is the best thing that has ever happened to me.