Monica lived in the room next door, my freshmen year at Point Loma Nazarene University. She’s everything you’d want your neighbor to be– bubbly (as in giggly, and girly, but far from aloof); she’s kind (which is very different than “nice”– deeper than nice, more than sweet. She is warm, thoughtful, sort of like a hug personified). Yeahhh, she set the bar pret-ty high as far as neighbors go. Which is especially hard to forget on mornings like these, as I reflect on how the people who live above us not only didn’t go to bed last night, but decided to move furniture between the hours of 3 am and 5 am. Angry face. I wanted, so badly, to poke a broom at the ceiling and shout, “MONICA WOULD NEVER DO THAT!!!!”

I recently had the privilege of reconnecting with Monica. We spent the evening on Coronado Island, and at that time I got to meet her Joseph. You guys… her Joseph!!! Um. How do I explain this? Joseph is what you DESPERATELY PRAY for your friends to find. He is such a gentlemen. He is so visibly into her– so confident, and unafraid for the world to see what she means to him. I think you’ll be able to tell in the photos.

And not just that. He’s also an incredible story teller.

So, for the first time ever on Whitney Darling, I give you a love story written through the eyes of the groom-to-be. How fantastic is that.

Pretty darn fantastic, if you ask me.

“Monica and I met at a bible study in Chuncheon, South Korea, where we were both teaching English to Korean kids. She walked in to the bible study, the new girl, and introductions were made all around. When she got to me, I told her that my name was Joseph, and that I was from Kansas. The first words my future wife ever uttered to me? “Oh! Like Dorothy! From the Wizard of Oz!” At that moment, two things happened simultaneously in my mind: (1) I declared war upon her, and (2) I decided that I liked her, and began devising interesting and convoluted ways of spending time with her. And so our journey began…

     Quickly integrating her into the group of friends I had made in Korea, we started hanging out, going to movies, karaoke, bowling, etc. Soon, however, I narrowed that group of friends down to just her and I, and we began going on day trips to Seoul, hiking in mountains, sightseeing tours, evenings spent at coffee shops, shopping, the works. Even the blind guys on the streets could see that I was interested in her. After about four months, having returned from the DMZ –the de-militarized zone separating North and South Korea– with her, which we had both wanted to see, I bared my heart before her. I told her that I really liked her, that I thought she was a really nice woman, and that I was very interested in dating her. Now, for those of you who know her, you know that Monica is a very social woman. She makes friends easily and quickly. She is also rather adept at reading social situations, and relational connections. Which is why I was so confused when she, an incredulous, shocked look on her face, said “ME?!?!?” A couple of moments of babbling ensued, at the end of which I understood: (1) that she liked me as a friend, even a best friend, but nothing more than that, and (2) that she had had absolutely NO idea that I had feelings such as that. She also expressed a heartfelt desire that we still remain friends. Holding tightly to the shattered pieces of my riven heart, I promised her that we would.

     The next morning I awoke with a dull, throbbing ache in my chest, and a determination to be the best friend to her that I could possibly be, and also to change her mind. And so we continued our day trips, our sightseeing tours, our evenings spent over coffee. Every weekend, we spent together. We went to mountains and beaches, fortresses and temples, big cities and took walks in the country. One weekend, we even went to Taiwan! We remained best friends, sharing our time and our stories. But the end was fast approaching, for my contract with my school was over in another month. My last, final attempt to win her heart, must be a hit. And so, I began planning her birthday party. I planned a small gathering at a chocolate fondue place with just her, Seth, who was our other best friend, and me. I also planned a large gathering on the weekend with all of our friends at her favorite restaurant, with her favorite foods, plus karaoke. All of this was nice and beautiful, and she truly loved the intimate setting of the chocolate fondue. Then I did it, the clincher: I pulled out “the cake,” for which I had searched far and wide. It was pink and white, filled with bows and cute chocolate shapes. In short, it was Hello Kitty. Two days later, she confessed that her feelings had changed, that she had fallen for me. I had done it!!! I had won her heart!

     And now, here we are, engaged, soon to be married. We still take trips around Korea and around the world (in fact, I took her to Europe for a week, and we spent Valentine’s Day in Paris!), but now we do so as a couple. We are now set to embark upon another kind of journey, not across the world, but across two lifetimes spent together. Our next destination is our 75th wedding anniversary. Wish us a love to cross the centuries!”

Congratulations, M & J. Wishing you love to cross the centuries.

 

Three years ago today, I took one last look in the mirror before leaving to meet him for the first time. I thought: this could be it. I buttoned up my white dress, put on my gold flats, and nervously smiled. This day was a long time coming.

He had found my blog through one of my best friends who posted it on her Facebook page. It was the year I first started taking photography seriously, and so my photoshoots were scheduled few and far between. I was primarily using my blog as an online journal, a ranting place, a soapbox of sorts, for me and the 6 people who loyally read it.

The day he first read my blog was the day after I wrote a post on what women really want from men. Specifically, Christian men. He was intrigued, so he left a comment: “Dually noted.” And that was that. He had no idea what I looked like. No idea where I lived. No clue that one day, I’d be his wife.

Months later I commented on that same girlfriend’s Facebook page. He saw my name and clicked, curious as to what this girl who had such strong opinions looked like. I guess he liked what he saw, because he added me as his “friend.”

It was two in the morning when I saw his friend request pop up. I was wide awake from the ridiculous amount of coffee I drank before a late night college course, and apparently that caffeine buzz made me a little loopy, because the next thing I did I made was the greatest mistake I ever made.

Andrew Schey, with a little black and white photo next to his name, is what I saw. I didn’t respond to friend requests from people I didn’t know, but because I thought I knew him, (“Aw yes! Andrew Schey! The chubby basketball player in my Psych class,”) I accepted his request.

That night, I had a Facebook status up that read, “I want to go sailing.” I was (very randomly) on Facebook chat, and gloriously enough, so was he. Andrew cooly messaged me in response to my sailing desire, “Me too,” like we were old friends or something. I wondered why Andrew from Psych wouldn’t even look at me in class, but was so seemingly interested in chatting on Internet. After a few brief exchanges, I clicked on his photo.

NOT CHUBBY GUY FROM PSYCH. HOT GUY. FROM MANHATTAN. (?!?)

I backtracked in our conversation. “Wait wait, who is this?” He explained: mutual friends in San Diego; he had read my blog a few months ago and thought what I had to say was interesting. He had never added someone he didn’t know, and felt sort of weird for doing it, but he wanted to know the writer behind the thoughts.

My heart quickened. We chatted on stupid Facebook chat until the sun rose in Kansas, which was the queue for him to shower before his 7 am class. Um, Kansas? Manhattan, Kansas was where he lived. Not Manhattan, New York. He’s lucky I didn’t de-friend him on the spot.

The next few nights, I found myself logging in on Facebook chat much more vehemently, in hopes his name would have a little green dot next to it. Because, GOSH, that first conversation was so exhilarating. He was so intelligent, so passionate, so interesting… and so interested.

He made confident advances, and soon asked for my phone number. But you see, I had this on-and-off-again boyfriend, so I thought it best to not go there. HOWEVER, I wasn’t dumb enough to change subjects at that; instead, I asked for his phone number, in case things didn’t work out with my other situation.

Against good judgement, I called him that night. “Andrew? It’s Whitney. (laugh laugh). Oh boy. Hi.” I needed to hear what he sounded like. I was captivated; and he? He thought it hilarious that I called so soon. Obviously, I had no game what-so-ever. Hard to get was like a foreign language. No speak-a that language.

We talked on the phone every day for months, him in Kansas, and me in Orange County. He wrote me hand written letters, we video chatted, and he even once sent me a video message– a well-crafted persuasion, on all the reasons we HAVE to meet in person. But crazy me? I cut the relationship off, or whatever it was. More than once. I was tied up at home with trying to make something else work, and talking to Andrew made life and love all the more confusing. He was this dangling carrot thousands of miles away, what I could have, maybe; and I compared everything to him.

So I cut the carrot. There was a month of silence.

Over the phone, I told him we couldn’t talk anymore. I confessed how I hoped that one day we could try again, but right now wasn’t the right time. I told him how confused I was, and that I needed to figure my feelings out. He complied, and promised not to call anymore. Those words, they killed. I hung up with a pit in my stomach. I cried very sad tears on the driveway that night, and wished life wasn’t so muddy.

The month we didn’t talk felt like eternity. I thought about him a hundred times a day. I’d write emotional text messages, and then not send them. It was torture.

I didn’t want to mess with his heart, but my own was a mess. It was rough. Uncomfortable. I lost my appetite over this guy I had never even seen eye to eye.

Finally, things really-truly ended with the relationship at home. And whadya know? Weeks later, I had a dream about Andrew. In the dream he was hurt. In the hospital. I couldn’t shake how real it felt. I needed to call him. I needed to know that he was okay.

He didn’t pick up. I thought to myself, “Of courseeee he didn’t pick up. He probably things I’m this tease, a jerk, or something worse.” But I didn’t care what he thought. I needed to prove him wrong about each of those things. I called again. And sent a text message, just asking for a quick conversation.

He called me back that day. I anxiously picked up. He apologized for not picking up the first calls; he was just being released from the hospital. He had been admitted a few days prior with a gnarly case of food-posinoning.

Isn’t God so funny? ISN’T HE?!

I told him to come meet me. I told him to hurry and feel better, and find a flight to Orange County. He responded with, “How are you and your boyfriend doing?”

I told him things were done. F’real. And then that great exhale of relief. From both ends of the phone. It was time. FINALLY.

He asked what I was doing the following week.

You should have seen my face.

I couldn’t believe he gave me another chance. So much grace. Who is this guy, with so much grace?!

I told him I would be in New York for a week, but he should come to California the second I come home.

He booked his flight for May 15th, 2009. I picked my husband up from the airport three years ago today.

Yesterday, Ryan and Briana got married. Again.

They exchanged simple yet powerful vows, and kissed on these same promises they made months ago. To have and to hold. To love and to keep. They meant it then, and they meant it again.

And when the moon rose, cheek against cheek, eyes closed, she slipped her hand into his, and they slow danced to country favorites until their knees were too weak and hearts were too full. He sang in her ear, stealing kisses in between choruses, and she smiled for hours on end, smitten by this man, who taught what it feels like to be loved. Fully.

I have a feeling that throughout their lifetime Ryan and Briana will get married lots of times.

It will be something they do on Friday nights, and maybe again on Sunday mornings– in their living room, kitchen, and even on the porch after the kids go to bed.

More memories from Briana and Ryan’s wedding celebration to be shared.

Until then,

Whitney Darling

The scent of freshly sharpened pencils and cashmere cardigans hovered over the campus like a halo; it was Fall in Provo, after-all.

Haylin’s California summer ended abruptly, as all school breaks do. It was back to Utah for her to study, study, study (and, ahem, date-date-mary). She was still settling into the swing of things, you know, decorating the new pad with a mixture of new and old, adjusting her eyes to the surplus of good looking single guys, etc.

On the way to the her apartment from the car, she heard her name shouted. “HAYLIN!” To her surprise, it was that cutie she met back in June, before everyone jetted back to their hometowns. Suddenly, syllabuses and science classes didn’t seem too bad. Cutie from June was calling her name, and there was a whole year of shamelessly calculated run-ins with him on the horizon.

They chatted for a bit in the parking lot, not about anything serious like marriage or anything…. because they’d have to save material like that for their SECOND DATE. So they parted ways, and Haylin made a mental note (in Sharpie) that cute Nick apparently moved into her same complex. Neighbors. Shwing.

Fast forward to accounting class, where ones wildest dreams come true. In walks Haylin, only to find whoooo seated in a desk? Uh-huh. Nick. Cute Nick, in case you forgot his full name. Or Nicky-poo, as Haylin’s affectionately referred to him. Not that she was talking about him after one casual conversation, or anything. Because girls don’t EVER get ahead of themselves with anything, especially not boys. We promise.

She let her jets cool for a few days after class, and then gave a nervous knock on his door for some “homework help.” They sat at his place all night, he showed her how perfect smart he is, and I imagine (like any crush) he somehow managed to make accounting sooo interesting. And sexy.

She left his place accounting down the days until he asked her out.

That weekend they went out in a group– Coldstone and rented movies, meanwhile acting like they were interested in hanging out with everyone, but somehow always back in conversation together. You know the story.

Waiting until class to see each other again seemed like such a headache. So, they hung out again on Sunday. And Monday was a holiday, thank you Jesus. So all day Monday, too. That following weekend they went out on their first date (Finally! 7 days later. Sheesh-laweeesh. What took so long!?), which actually ended up being a double-date with Haylin’s brother and his (then) fiance. You know, date numero uno, meet the older brother… no big deal.

Exactly a week from date 1, they went out again; this time alone. It felt so undeniably good. They were starry-eyed, smitten, all the stuff Shakespeare would go to for inspiration. They spent the evening talking ebbing through such comfortable conversation– and at one point, marriage was brought up. And not marriage in general. Marriage, as in, them getting married.

Oh to the em to the gee. My eyes bugged out of my head upon hearing this story while at their wedding. Upon popping each eye ball into its respective socket, I gasped, and quickly refocused my camera onto the bride and groom before my very eyes, just 8 months after date 1.

It’s shocking. But it makes sense. When you want something, no, someone, with all of your heart, why wait?

Eternity, bound to the one you adore, never starts soon enough.

*

Thank you so much Nick and Haylin, and to your amazing families, for allowing me to capture such a beautiful and intimate milestone. Hoping the frames below help you relive your wedding story, a story that we is worth celebrating a hundred times over.

XO-

Whitney Darling

 

He went to Korea on his own.

She went to Korea on her own.

And then they came back, together, like this:

A story on traveling pals, friends first, and all the good stuff that lead then to more. Much, much more.

I believe that Earth is an orb made up of many many reflections, like a disco ball, if you will.

I believe that we, the tiny pieces of glass that compose the surface of the sphere, whether intentional about it or not, are mirrors of what already exists around us. We see, we absorb, and we reflect.

Each of us are born with a mirror, and where we choose to point our mirror tells much about our worldview, our focus, and thus what emanates from us.

I believe that some are stuck holding their mirror facing the ground. Because of things they have experienced, they are too exhausted to lift their mirrors, or because of things they have done, they are too ashamed. They keep their mirror pointed towards the pavement– reflecting only shadowy places. And because of Satan’s atrophy of their esteemed self-worth, they would rather not reflect anything than what they know of the world or their self.

And then there are those who spend their entire lives holding the mirror right in front of their nose. They see nothing but their own face, their own needs, their own blemishes. These people, without knowing it, create a world around their own interest and therefore live in a form of isolation. They may have people in their lives, but these people function more as puppets in their play than friends or family. Because of what they see in the mirror, they often feel episodes of intense pleasure, then intense criticism, then intense loneliness. I think all of us know many of these sort of mirror-holders, and if we’re honest, we can remember times when this was us.

Lastly, there are those who hold their mirrors to the sun. They are lookers to the heavens, casters of the light, powerful beacons of sunshine that are seen from miles away. These people are freed from their own self-destructive ways, and they have chosen to reject that ugly little voice in their head that tells them to keep their mirrors low. These people know that their identity– their very luminance– is a direct reflection of what God casts into their mirror. In an often heavy world, they are on display– brilliantly proclaiming truth over those who are weighed down, face down, mirror down. These children of light know that because of Jesus they are JUSTIFIED in front of God, no matter what they have done (so they shine); they are EQUIPPED for the unbelievable plans God has for them, because they know that their light giver does not lead them in the dark (so they shine); and lastly they know they are deeply LOVED not because of what they see in the mirror, but because of what God sees. Our new identity esteemed according to his GRACE. Sometimes their arms get tired when they try to hold the mirror on their own, but then they are helped and dually reminded that their shaky arms will always be supported, because they working for something beyond this life. They are reachers to heaven, and God doesn’t leave these brave people to do that in their own strength.

I was talking to Jordyn about her thoughts on heaven this morning. She is still in the process of finding out what she thinks about God, which is a fine place to be. I remember being 18, wrestling with truth and coming to the surface with a whole bunch of uncertainty. I respect her honesty, it is pure. But soon we got to talking about reflections—reflections of both heaven and hell, here on Earth. I thought about how awesome it is that the idea of reflecting came full circle, as she witnessed to hazes of heavenly things even in her own life. Namely, time with her family. She said, and I quote, “I think I see heaven when I have dinner with my family because I know they love me and I love them. I love those family dinners because even with all of the stress throughout the day we always joke and talk and laugh and it’s really one of the times I feel closest to them. We tell each other what is happening in our lives and we all listen and offer advice and then we all somehow always seem to end up laughing like maniacs. I also love when our entire family gets together with the cousins, that happens only like once a year… but those are the best memories I have.”

I loved hearing what feels heavenly to her. With a smirk across my face, I just nodded and gave an ample amount of Amens. I silently prayed to myself for her that she would see more and more of heaven in the next season of her life. That her eyes would be open to all sorts of reflections, and that she would know the source of each one. I pray that Jordyn would be wise, and that she isn’t dismayed. I hope that she reaches for MORE of heaven, more time with her family, more talks with her cousins, more laughter at the dinner table, feeling whole and satisfied in that gift. And most importantly, my prayer for you Jordyn is that there is a choice made every day to raise that mirror high, REAL HIGH, and that it leads you to become a light for the world to stare at, and wonder about. I hope you know how much you are loved. Gosh, with my whole heart, I hope that for you.

Amen, and amen.

All my love- Whitney

 

 

 

Photos are powerful.

They are simple visual reminders of what we don’t always get to see.

They remind us of what life has accumulated to thus far, and they hint at the possibilities to come.

But my favorite trait of all is what they do for the present: they show us what already is.

This frame holds me in the present, “This is our own home. This is our own little family.”

What a feeling.

Thank you to Lauren Gillmore of LA Creative Studio who took our cozy family photos yesterday and for already sharing this sneak peek.

We are so excited!

Not every love story starts in the second grade. But this one does.

For a minute, forget those scandalous “how we met” stories that start with flirting from across the bar, leaving a hot waiter your number, and those sleepless nights browsing through seas of singles on Plenty of Fish. Because this story is nothing of that sort. This story started before they knew cursive, or what heart-break feels like. It started when cartoon lunch-boxes were THE BOMB, and before THE BOMB ever insinuated a good thing. It was in Mrs. Day’s classroom full of curious, toothless, stinky seven year olds that Erick and Nicole first rubbed shoulders. They sat at the same tiny table, and probably got in trouble a here and there for whispering when the teacher was talking. I wish I could go back and tell that silly lady to cut them some slack, as those first conversations about borrowing each other’s eraser were the tiny seeds that would grow to be a marriage. Duh, Mrs. Day. DUH.

While most youngsters were busy cooty-dodging and daring each other to go into the opposite gender’s bathroom, Nicole and Erick were becoming loyal playground pals. They weren’t best friends or anything at the time… or so Nicole assumed. I mean, what BOY want to be her best friend? But she soon discovered that he wasn’t like the rest of the boys she knew. One day while she was over at Erick’s house after school, she found a book full of secrets in the back of his closet. She flipped to a random page, and started snooping researching, only to find an official list of his friends– a documented hierarchy of sorts. Because in case you don’t remember, in second grade you can only officially have ONE favorite color and ONE best friend. Under the category of best friend, so his book of secrets divulged, was just ONE name, ONE she never expected: Nicole.

They grew up together, in the realest sense. Growing pains, the sharing of joys, the sharing of disappointments, the forming of opinions, faith, family, you name it… their lives were always intertwined. But always as friends. Friends who cared very deeply for each other, almost like family.

Naturally, when Nicole went to plan her quinceanera, she was resolved to include Erick in her celebration. The party wouldn’t be her without him. It was that night, freshly fifteen years old, all dolled up, sealing that season of childhood and earnestly welcoming ladyhood, that the “just friends” nonsense was shaken up. Erick saw her in a totally different light. He saw her as beautiful– really really REALLY beautiful. Here, the crush was born.

Their friendship remained, but as they left awkward middle school and entered the social big leagues, the land of lockers, home of the Wildcats, it began to change shape. Enter the scene: overt flirting, racing through homework to hang out, and that sense of excitement every time that brick of a Nokia phone buzzed. It was puppy love, in full force.

“It was the end of freshmen year before one of my softball games that we first kissed. I didn’t know the kiss was coming, neither one of us really did, we were just talking… and then he hugged me… and we both just kind of went for it!”

But it wasn’t until the day after homecoming the next fall, that Erick sealed the deal. He invited Nicole over to his house, just like old times, and while sitting on the couch, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

PLEASE TELL ME I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE ALL GIGGLY RIGHT NOW. DAAAH!

They graduated high school together. They went to college in different states. They pursued their own dreams– he became a Varsity football coach, she became an admissions counselor. They pursued life, to the absolute fullest, but they never broke up. Because life lived to the absolute fullest has always meant life together.

Do you know what an honor it is to tell their story? I don’t know if I could write it all out in words. Do you know the depth of my gratefulness to have photographed such a day in their history together? It’s the story behind the wedding, their story, which adds infinite value to what I do.

Walking into a wedding day knowing its emotional height, so that I, a storyteller, can climb to that height, and capture it from up there, is my calling. I am sure of this. There is no greater professional privilege; I am so overwhelmed that God has written such epic tales, so that I can share their richness with you.

Erick and Nicole, cheers to YOU– to your friendship first, and then to a lifetime of flirting to follow. Thank you again and again.

*

Love,

Whitney

 

Had to share this sweet little memory from day 1 of their 2 day wedding extravaganza in fabulous Los Angeles, California:

Just minutes after being announced as husband and wife, ladies and gents, it’s Nick and Haylin Martin!

So excited to continue the celebration with you guys, tomorrow! XO

She was 20 and he had just turned 21 when they went on their first date. They mingled in the same friend group, and conveniently showed up to the same Friday night festivities for the first few chapters of their story. They had shared many meals and conversations together before things reached any measure of hubba-hubba-ness… specifically speaking, that one night he asked her to grab dinner midweek… without the rest of their posse.

That night was the very beginning of what Jamie’s close friend calls, “The summer Jamie disappeared.” They were falling fast… inseparable… until he had to leave again for Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. College, why you gotta play us like that?

Jamie and Dave dated for seven whole years, remaining an item for many (many) moons before they both were living in the same town, at the same time. It took patience for their lives to align just right– for an engagement to even be possible. But when the timing finally presented itself, which happened to be March 19th of last year, Dave was all in. Capital ALL, capital IN. He knew Jamie better than anyone in the world, and everything he knew of her made him want her more. Truly, what is more charming than that?

Dave carried with him seven years of anticipation, and a dazzling diamond nestled deep in his pocket into their next chapter together. He had been waiting to ask Jamie a certain question for some time now.

His plan for their Saturday day date was well-crafted; with a single rose packed in his backpack, he’d take her on a hike in their coziest clothes down to their favorite seaside village, and when the time was just right, he’d make her heart skip a few beats as he dropped to his knee and expressed the seriousness of his adoration for her.

Covering all of his bases, he checked the weather report that morning. The forecast predicted fluffy grey skies, and a chance of rain later in the day, so Dave knew there’d be no time for lolly-gagging. He was ready to take care of bidness, and he’d allow NOTHING (I mean nothinggg!) to delay what he’d been imagining for so long. Nothing except a hairless cat.

WHAT THE HUH?

YEP. On their way to Crystal Cove, Jamie reminded Dave that they had to stop at the local pet hotel to visit their friend’s hairless cat, RAISEN. Jamie is a woman of her word, and had promised this friend that while she was away, she’d make a quick stop in and give ol’ Raisen a few quick scratches. Don’t laugh. I’m serious.

Dave, of course not wanting to upset the morning, bit his tongue and drove to the Costa Mesa Cat Clinic, the mecca for feline pampering and impromptu proposals.

No, no, I kid! He didn’t actually propose there. He kindly let his lady fulfill her word (“but seriously, you’ve got 5 minutes in there”), and soon they were on their way to THE destination. They parked at the cliffs, climbed down dusty seaside paths, finally making their way to that peaceful place they both love. I don’t know about you, but the whole silver sky scene just adds to the snuggly feeling I get hearing their story.

Jamie recalls that Dave was much more quiet than usual. His words were a little jumbly, his breath was a little short, and he may or may not have tripped. Hard. “There were no serious injuries… just a slightly bruised ego.” She laughs in retrospect, “He’s usually so smooth and confident.” But neither her or I can’t blame the guy– because honestly, how scary is it to ask a girl to marry you?! It’s like the biggest of big deals. I’d probably fart and then faint from the nervousness. Props to all who could pull anything better than that.

After collecting his thoughts, and preparing his words one last time… Dave pulled Jamie’s hand and led her to a part of the cove that was totally secluded– totally serene– totally just the two of them. No one else, nothing else; this was all he desired. And right there, Dave did what he had imagined doing a hundred million times before:

He fell to one knee for Jamie Lee.