“I’m giving it one last try,” I said to myself.
A year previously, I had purchased a beautiful, huge condo and had it all to myself. And there I sat, in my office–a large second bedroom with bare walls and a complete bathroom attached–almost giving up that I’d ever share my home with a man who I could love for the rest of my life.
And with that, I changed the settings on my online profile to extend to a 250 mile radius instead of 100 miles.
“But I’m not going to try any more after this. That’s it.” I was certain this wouldn’t work anyway. Besides, I wasn’t even paying for the premium Christian Mingle service. I was just doing the free gig. So, there was no way I would even meet someone I had prayed for since I knew I could pray for a future husband.
I mean, I loved my life; I loved doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, having an entire queen-sized bed to myself, staying out super late talking to friends in church parking lots. But I just knew I always wanted to get married. I wanted to have adventures with a man I could go home with, share a bed with a man who would treasure what I’d saved for him, and talk about every thing I could ever talk about with a heart who loved me unconditionally.
I would watch with hope as married couples in my church sat together in their pews, his arm around her. She seemed so safe. So loved. It was so mysterious to me, and intriguing.
Whatever it was, I wanted it. I wanted to be married from the depths of my heart. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to keep trying incessantly; online dating had proven to be more heartbreaking than any dating I’d experienced before. I wanted it to work, but I knew I couldn’t handle much more disappointment before I’d decide to start investing in cats and live alone with them for the rest of my days.
And I can’t remember how long it was before it happened. Or even who initiated it. I wish I could go back in the archives and see the history, but one of us sent a little doo-dad to the other, requesting an email. It must have been me, because my email address wasn’t listed. He quickly sent back the same whatchamading requesting an email. And his was listed. So, what did I do?
I wrote him.
But, remember: I was done with the junk. I had been disappointed and laughed at. I wasn’t playing around anymore. So, I started out with the big test:
Hi! This is Rebecca from Christian Mingle. You said I should send you an email.
So, tell me about yourself.
And with that, I hit “send” and went off to bed.
The next day, after work, I discovered a rather lengthy reply email from this guy, Seth. It seemed my goal had worked; I wanted to see what was most important to this dude–what he’d focus on with such a wide open prompt. He shared about his family, his ministry career, his education, and his love of reading and coffee.
That didn’t seem too crazy. No red flags, yet. Not even any yellow flags. All green flags.
I followed up with questions and, at his request, shared some things about myself.
This all seems like such a boring story. And I think that’s the beauty of it. I think there’s so much beauty in the simple. Because the simple is often extraordinary concealed.
Essentially, we shared emails back and forth for a couple weeks. With each email, replies were sent closer together until we were emailing one another multiple times each day. And I couldn’t wait to read his replies.
I found his writing clear, succinct. He was obviously educated, but also very intelligent. He could put sentences together even better than I could. A well-written man is swoon-worthy. And I already felt as though I could trust him. That didn’t keep me from cyberstalking extensively, but I found myself interested in his ministry and intrigued by this nerdy-looking dude who was physically active and following God on an unplanned ministerial adventure.
He was clearly not a prude. One of his profile pictures had him with a glass of wine, something my upbringing would have found uncooth. Another picture had him by a waterfall in Africa. Africa? I hadn’t left the North/Central American region, so that was impressive. He shared about his mother, whose name is Becky, his dad, Mike. He tried to guess my middle name and I guessed his quickly. We gave each other personality tests with our questions and researched each other’s personality tempraments. He talked about swimming and, once we connected on Facebook, I saw pictures of his triathalons and church events.
He kept replying to emails and I did the same. But we never spoke to one another on the phone.
But I wanted to be careful. I’d entertained relationship thoughts with two online dudes previously. Neither worked out, to say the least. I shared these concerns just a bit with him. I was pretty sure he got the hint: don’t stand me up. Ever.
Eventually, he got up the nerve to suggest a meeting. He put it at the end of the email, as if an afterthought or as if he were hoping I wouldn’t read it. Or maybe he was nervous to initiate such a bold move.
As I was finishing up graduate school and a second year of teaching, I suggested we wait until the beginning of June, when both would be completed. He agreed and we set the date: June 6, 2008; we’d meet at my place and go to the park. He’d stay with a friend in the area for the weekend and we could spend Friday afternoon/evening and Saturday together. Maybe even Sunday morning service, too. I gave him my address and phone number and promptly told trusted friends that this was going to happen so they could be on alert if I’d gone missing.
In the mean time, I graduated from graduate school. I got my mail one day and, to my surprise, found a card from him: a card congratulating me on finishing graduate school, complete with a gift card to Barnes and Noble. The card sang, “Celebrate good times, c’mon!” when I opened it; no one had ever bought me a fun card like that. It made me smile. I felt special.
I’m not sure what exactly hooked me. Was it simply the well spoken written nature of this man? Was it his gentle demeanor that oozed from his words, Facebook, and ministry? his generous heart? It may have been all of these things. But when I told a colleague that I was going to meet someone I’d met online, she said she had a feeling he was the one.
We had met. Next, we date.
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