>Kissing Mark

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It took a long time for Mark to kiss me. We met at a gym in Harare in 1985. I guess, for that matter, it took him a long time to even talk to me. He stood at the door to the aerobic room and watched me. It was hard not to be attracted to him; tall, dark, handsome, muscular. In fact I had to initiate our first conversation. Then he talked to me everyday!

We began dating. He came with me to church. He took me to his house to meet his parents. He would come over to my flat (here in the US we would call it an apartment!) He would leave late, saying a nice goodbye at his car. I kept wondering when he would kiss me. Then, finally, one evening, outside my flat in the parking lot, he kissed me. It left me weak in the knees.

This summer we returned to Zimbabwe for a mission trip. I wanted get a photo of us kissing in the same spot as our first kiss. He didn’t even remember it. I did. I had waiting a long time!

We don’t kiss very much anymore. At least not like we used to. When I think of it, I need to spend a lot more time kissing Mark.