The Stranger I'm in Love With
Words and image by Ashley Setterlind
I had never worn red lipstick in my life before that day.
Every time I wear lipstick, I feel like I can’t move my face. I’m afraid it’s going to get smeared all over my teeth. Honestly, I’m not really one of those girls who knows how to “do” her makeup. I’m a t-shirt, leggings, and baseball cap kind of chick. But on this particular Tuesday in January during my freshman year of college, all of my quad-mates and I caved to the pressure of the current fad: firetruck red lipstick.
I wore “real clothes” that day, straightened my Rapunzel-length hair, and stared at my reflection before walking to class, trying to convince myself I was as bold and confident as my face currently portrayed. I took a smize-y selfie for memories’ sake, which as it turns out, proved to be a brilliant move. I posted it to Instagram with one of those terrible OG filters and the caption “why did I not know red lipstick was so cool earlier?! kind of in love, actually” ...because I was 18 and that was super on-brand for me at the time. I was definitely not “kind of in love, actually.”
On my way to the music building, I got several compliments from new friends I’d run into along the way, giving me the slight boost of confidence I needed to choose my seat in Dr. Whaley’s Worship 101. I’m sure I was putting off some major “don’t speak to me” vibes, but in reality it was just that whole “lipstick on the teeth” thing again.
About that time, a friend I’d made first semester happened to walk in, and I breathed for the first time since I left my dorm room thirty minutes ago. He took the seat to my right and happily reassured me that I could, in fact, smile without resembling The Joker.
Thank God.
A few minutes before class began, I half-noticed a six-foot-tall male wearing a flannel shirt and a beanie walking across the room in front of me. Since this class involved singing and playing musical instruments, our desks were arranged in a semicircle in two rows, with the one in the back raised slightly higher than the front. Mister lumberjack took the last seat on the front row, facing the exit door. I would later learn that he intentionally always places himself in a position where he can be the most aware of his surroundings, and especially of people entering a room—protector that he is wired to be. From my seat in the dead center of the back row, I could easily study him with a subtle shift of my gaze to the left, without even moving my head.
Okay, I’m starting to realize I sound a bit like a stalker. I know. Stick with me.
As fate, or my worst nightmare, would have it, the professor asked us to go around at the beginning of class and introduce ourselves. This meant I would have to speak. (Read: move my face. Read: open my mouth. Read: probably smile, if I wanted to be perceived as a normal, friendly human). And suddenly, I was cursing myself for letting my friends drag me into this unfortunate predicament.
The jury is still out on whether the stranger on the front row stared at me because he thought I was cute, or it was just lipstick on my teeth. What I do know is—he’s the stranger I fell in love with.
I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight, but if I did, he would be proof of it. When he stood up to speak, I knew in an instant that my life had been altered forever. His presence was so comforting, so confident, so commanding; it consumed all the air in my lungs alongside the attention of everyone in the room. Why or how? I can’t say, exactly. It’s just who he is. If you’ve ever met someone like him, you know exactly what I mean.
When I heard him introduce himself and watched from afar as he joked with our professor with a little too much ease and charm, I knew I had to know him. I didn’t know why, but I was certain my soul was being drawn towards his.
While I’m sure you’re already picturing me in a wedding dress and (obviously) red lipstick; finishing my story for me, you’ll be fascinated to know that I totally had a boyfriend already. Whoops.
Like all great love stories, it took some time for all the pieces to come together.
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Flash forward nearly seven years, and you’ll find me in another room full of strangers—a labor and delivery room. Giving birth to your second child feels a lot like trying to write a sequel to your first book—if your first book were a national bestseller.
Kinda hard to top a national bestseller, ya know? Impossible, even. Except you know deep within you there’s more to the story, and this new narrative will surely enrich the plot line once it’s brought into the world too.
Every mother who has ever prepared for baby number two has felt the tension between life with your only child and life with this stranger you’re sure to fall in love with.
The overwhelming excitement of meeting another tiny miracle; your body being their only home to date.
The curiosity of how similar or different they’ll be from their older sibling, and how much their equally perfect features might favor each other.
The hope that they’ll not just “get along,” but be best friends.
The crippling anxiety that you won’t be enough for either one of them, let alone both of them.
The doubt over your ability to do it all with not just one, but now two.
The very real grief that the undivided attention you once gave to your firstborn will no longer exist in the same way.
The fear over how that shift is going to impact your bond with your oldest.
And simultaneously, the joyful anticipation in discovering a capacity to love so deep, fairytales could only dream of knowing it.
Of course, when you welcome “the sequel,” everyone’s first question is: How are you adjusting? At five days into this whole “mom of two” gig, here’s the best way I know how to describe it. My relationship with my firstborn daughter feels like a small scale version of my marriage—secure and comfortable, like cozying up with my favorite fuzzy blanket and a steaming mug of hot cocoa in front of a crackling fireplace on a winter day. It’s weathered by storms, but stronger because of them; deepened with time; enriched by experiences and memories already created, with a grateful expectancy for what’s to come as we continue growing together.
Meeting my son, on the other hand, has felt a whole lot like meeting my husband for the first time—exciting, new, and intriguing; full of mystery, but an overwhelming, insatiable desire to know who this person is. It’s a craving, a longing, a need to be a key player in his story. There are more questions, less familiarity, and a little more confusion; but still an undeniable drawing to each other. He is this stranger I fell in love with.
It’s good now, but certain to be even better one day. The same love, just in different seasons.
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Oh, and just in case you were wondering—no, I didn’t wear red lipstick on our wedding day.
I was too worried about it getting on my teeth.
About the Author:
Ashley Setterlind is a follower of Jesus, a pastor's wife, and soon-to-be mama of two under two! She is passionate about living to display the glory of God in the midst of mundane moments. She's a fierce Chick-fil-A addict, and loves the feeling of cracking open a new book. You can find her on Instagram at @ashleysetterlind and encouraging other mamas in their journey at @deeplyrootedmotherhood.
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