800 years ago I was 15. I had my first kiss. It was an aggressive tongue fully in your mouth kiss. I think my first thoughts were “what the hell is going on!!?” I wasn’t too sure I’d like kissing if this is what it was going to be like. I let it go on and on for a while. I did it again with the same guy a few times. I was confused. Why did people enjoy someone ramming their very long tongue against yours for a hour in the front seat of a car anyway?
I moved on to a better kisser, a different boyfriend and found the whole sha-bang to be a bit more fun. I fell in love a few times. I broke up. I cried. I starved myself and laid around in my pajamas and gave out my number to guys at bars who asked for it but barely ever called me.
I worked at camp, dated christian guys, spiritual guys, atheist guys, alcoholics, older guys, super duper older guys, musicians, more musicians, flaky creatives: writers, producers, and even a UFC fighter…and these were the ones I liked had more than a first date with. I was looking or not looking or pretending to not look so that I would find my way into my own personal love story.
The stories of my dating life became popular to share in order to get a good laugh at a party.
And I was praying. My mom was praying. Her friends were praying. My friends were praying. It was getting pretty ridiculous how invested everyone was becoming in convincing me (or perhaps themselves) that a nice girl like me would someday meet a nice man. “God would provide a good man someday. I deserved it,” they’d say. And the thing is, I don’t really believe God owes me anything. I know God’s interested in the details of my life, but I do not to expect him to be a jolly eharmony Santa Claus.
Then one day, in a sea of guys I met a man. He took me on real dates. He returned my calls. He brought me flowers and we shared our stories. He read my blog (which kinda freaked me out at first) and asked good questions. We laughed and talked and couldn’t seem to get enough of late frozen yogurt nights.
And I wasn’t sure…
…it just seemed too good to be true. When would he get bored with me? When would he decide that I was too much? When would he get scared? Non-commital? Would he take all the nice things back and run away?
We fought and sparred, but he never screamed at me. He was nice afterwards. We talk things through…and grow closer. He never wants to break up with me for being moody and withdrawn and scared.
I like kissing him more than any other man I’ve ever kissed. I feel known, loved, and cherished by this sweet man, David. He says he “knew” the first night he met me.
I used to think those stories were old fashioned and ridiculous, from another time.
It took me a month or two before I felt confident in saying I “knew” though I had an inkling that first night we met, at a high top bar table during happy hour at a local restaurant that he would be significant to me…and that I might just fall in love with him.
In all my years dating around I never expected to fall in love with an Indian man (who grew up in Minneapolis and likes pizza more than curry) with a last name the same as my first…who works in finance. Yup, his name is David Christie. He is the coolest. He likes Pearl Jam, Dave Matthews and funny YouTube videos, and knows a thousand random facts about things I would never care to even Google. He listens to Howard Stern and John Maxwell every morning like it’s his wake up coffee. I guess there’s balance in there somewhere. He’s imperfect and honest, funny and kind, smart and thoughtful…and stubborn like me. We’re both working on that. I love how he values people as much as I do. I think that’s my favorite thing: He knows that valuing people and caring for them is living out this whole Jesus thing more than anything else we do.
One of the prayers I prayed a million times was this: “God, all these kids and people are watching and praying for just the right man to come. Please feel free to show off!! Bring me an incredible man to marry so we can show everyone how you take care of us.” But the kids in Haiti are starving…so I thought maybe God would rather show off and take care of that kind of thing first.
The thing is, God is at work in Haiti and God is working in my life too. He cares about every one of us down to the details and longings of our heart.
So on a Friday night, opposite my love…I type this blog post. He’s on the other couch studying for an exam and we’re figuring out how to be a couple after we’ve lived our lives independent and alone for all this time. We’re doing a pretty good job…because who better to spend your day with than your best friend who you can also make out with?!
After 18 years of dating and kissing boys and paying for eharmony and match.com…I’ve unsubscribed. Hallelujah.
I found him, my person, my man.
I love you David.