The headline is referring to our marriage–David’s and mine and the missionary component would be on David’s part. Most people who know us have heard of our unconventional courtship across the many miles of the US. Who knows had David really known me, if he ever would have looked me up. He had only vague recollections of a certain Joli Howard (yes, he got my name right) who lived in Pennsylvania (uhm, make that Maryland!!). David had a definitive purpose in mind when he got on his trusty laptop and did a name search. It had been eighteen months since the last time our paths had crossed. Our families had maintained no contact since that time. The other detail David had incorrectly remembered about me pertained to my affinity for coffee. Chisms are adamant about their coffee. And I don’t think any Chism would compete for first place affection for good coffee over David. I, on the other hand, never touched the stuff. Busy schedule, sleepless college days made no difference. I chose to run on my own energy, thank you very much! It’s true, I even made snide remarks about it. It wasn’t long before I learned about my courter’s affection for coffee. As our relationship progressed, I didn’t really have any red flags pertaining to coffee. After all, my dad was a strong delighter in the black beverage, while my mom wouldn’t even touch decaf tea, so sensitive to the slightest quantity of caffeine she was. Well, as history attests, we were married, David and I. David drinking his black coffee, and not burnt Starbucks mind you, the real deal and strong! and I drinking tea or hot chocolate or water or nothing. Well, after two and a half children and three and a half years of marriage I’ve caved. I must admit it. I now drink coffee, fresh from David’s espresso machine (usually decaf) and doctored with just the right touch of cream and sugar–David knows just how much. So this missionary marriage has a happy ending after all. I am the reluctant–now joyful convert.