Sharon Sweetheart

I suppose that if I’m going to write about “Christianity and Sex”, I could have begun with “Sharon”. Sharon is a perfect illustration of my own bumbling attempts at romance, and the fact that there is something more in a Christian woman. Or, girl in this case.

Sharon is a simple story; I met her at Bible Camp the summer before I was a junior in high school, 1977. She was a year younger, petite and slender, with short, wavy blond hair and wire rimmed glasses. I don’t know what it was about her, but I liked her right away. She was smart, warm hearted, and a real sweetheart. Cute, too. We kind of chummed around for a week when we were both counselors, and I had high hopes for the senior high camp a couple of weeks later.

To make a long story short, I played it coy, not knowing how to treat a girl, and my best friend at Church, Mike, ended up with Sharon. That would be status quo for the ensuing several years. We were something of a trio, but Mike was always with Sharon. “One Who Wears Yellow Shorts”

I could tell you a lot about Sharon, and I’d like to. For example, she had a sister a year younger, “Kathy”, who had long, rich brown hair and was absolutely beautiful. And smart. Or how my stomach twisted when I would occasionally wander across Mike and Sharon kissing. Yet there are lots of things about Sharon that I simply can’t fit in here.

Oh sure, Sharon and I wrote for years, but I could never catch the right rhythm. I can remember my senior year, there was a winter youth retreat at a large hotel. I was excited about the weekend, because I knew that Mike wouldn’t be there. And I was eager, finally, to have my opportunity.

And so, one way or another, I was at the hotel before Sharon’s group. I heard about their arrival, and headed for the lobby. An instant that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. For there was Sharon, recognizable next to Kathy, and the rest of her friends. But that was the only way.

For Sharon had…blossomed, since the summer. Her short, wavy blond hair was now shoulder length, straight, thick and golden, a blond counterpart to her sister’s chestnut loveliness. And she had finally gotten contacts, which freed her lovely features from “cute” into “beauty”. I felt my heart soar.

Yet this was the end of my hopes for Sharon. As sweet as she was, with “cute” I had a chance. At “beautiful”, she was far beyond me.

Or was it? For the story was not to end there.