Wiaiting to be Pursued

My best friend and I headed to Jr. Prom.

Some of you knew me in high school, so for me to blog 20 years later and say I was popular would definitely catch me in a lie.  As opposed to playing sports, I was in band.  In fact, I was the leader of the band, which one might think would earn me some cool points, but strangely works quite the opposite in high school.  However, among my circle of band, drama, and speech cohorts, I suppose I had some amount of popularity.  Looking back at scrapbooks and photo albums, it seems that I dated quite a few different guys.  If you knew me in high school you also know that may be somewhat of a lie.  I dated a lot.

It was the same in my first year of college, although attending one of the top music schools in the country, knowing how to wield a sax was more of a draw than a setback.  

What I can see now that I couldn't see so much at the time was the thing that I enjoyed so much about dating was that I was actively being pursued.  In fact, I dated people that I knew I had no future with just because I enjoyed the feeling of being wanted.  This was true from the boy who pursued my first kiss right up to the boy who followed me to my car every day after class in college and eventually pursued my hand in marriage.

Recently, I was going through one of those boxes, you know the kind you stuff with little what-nots from high school that you will never use again, but just like to have so you can prove to your kids that you actually know a little something about being 16.  I came across something that flooded me with memories of how good it felt to be pursued by someone who loved me unconditionally - even at 15, which believe me, defies all reason.  As I looked at it, I realized it was time to let it go.  Literally. Not just because I'm married and the only man that I should want to want me is the man I sleep with every night (who coincidentally is my husband).

But more-so because I realized I shouldn't find my worth from any man pursuing me, even the one I sleep with every night.


My worth should be settled solely on being pursued by the God who made the universe.  And His pursuit is relentless.  Even when I turn my back on Him, yell and scream at Him, or ignore Him completely, still He pursues.  I am worth something because He made me.  I am worth something because He is willing to pursue me to the ends of the earth, or the end of myself.  Like the parable in Luke 15 where the shepherd is willing to leave the 99 sheep to find the one who wandered, my God will never give up His pursuit.  And it is not because I'm perfect.  All of the boys who have ever pursued me, including my husband, will attest to that.   

It is because I am His child.


And so are you.

You may not know it yet. Or you may not believe it, but God is pursuing you.  And like a lovesick teenager, He won't stop until you notice Him.  Maybe in a sunrise. Maybe in a storm.  Maybe in the sparkle of your baby's eyes. Maybe not until you hit rock bottom and have no where else to look.  But once you notice Him, He will keep pursuing you to the ends of the earth, or the end of yourself.

And when you really let that set in, that the God who made the universe takes the time to chase little old you,  it doesn't matter if you give the high school letter jacket back to your first boyfriend.  It doesn't matter if your husband doesn't always look at you like he did when you were first dating.  It only matters that the One who rules the universe, who rises and sets the sun, who gave you breath, who is all powerful and all good . . . it matters that He knows you to the very core and despite that, He will never give up His pursuit.  He will never stop wanting you.

Now that's a love story I can live with.

Waiting for The One

The following is cross-posted on Sonja Cassella's blog, Fort Worth Renaissance. I am honored to have had the opportunity to be a guest blogger on Sonja's blog. If you haven't had a chance to check it out, I hope you will. I'm sure it will quickly become a favorite of yours,as it is mine. Fort Worth natives (and those who would like to be) will enjoy her unique perspective of and beyond.

Waiting for The One

I’ve met many women who tell me that the reason they spend so much time sitting across the table from uninteresting men, laughing at jokes that aren’t funny and eating a dinner salad when what they really want is a big juicy steak topped with bacon with a side of bacon is that these dates, no matter how horrid, help them create a checklist of they are looking for in a mate.

- Bob may have been obnoxious but he had great teeth.

Image by occhichiusi via Flickr

- Seth had bad breath but he held the door open for me.

- Tyler slurped his soup, talked about his ex-girlfriends all night, tried to grab my breasts when we got in the car, and ate my cucumbers, but he has a job.

- James dresses great, talks to his mom three times a week, loves musical theater, has never been married, offered to take me shopping, give me a make-over, and set his roommate Brian up with my best friend . . . wait a minute.

I view dating from a different perspective. I believe dating allows you to create a list of things that you don’t want in a life-long mate. Once you find someone who doesn’t match that list, you know he (or she) is the one.

Since this may be a new concept for you, let me illustrate with my personal example. Other than my husband, I’ll use descriptors rather than names. However, it is important to keep a couple of things in mind.

- These examples are 10-15 years ago (I was very young when I started dating).

- Most importantly, just because I (or you) place something on this type of list, it does not make the associated person bad or flawed (barring physical or verbal abuse). It just means they weren’t The One. When it comes down to it, most of my ex’s could list a flaw or two of mine (I’m not eliciting a challenge).

The Things I Didn’t Want In The One - As Learned From My Ex-boyfriends

- High School Obsession – Drank too much.

- Long Term High School Boyfriend – Didn’t get my sense of humor.

- Short Term College Boyfriend –More interested in my body than my mind.

- Long Term College Boyfriend – Wanted me to be a mild mannered, size 4, blond, Southern Baptist vegetarian.

Then I met Richie and he wasn’t all of the things I didn’t want.

We met in college, so I won’t tell you we didn’t enjoy a few cocktails on occasion, but there were distinct differences between him and my High School Obsession. First, he was 21 not 17. Second, he knew the difference between having a drink, and drinking to get drunk.

Not only did he get and appreciate my sense of humor, he made me laugh.

Richie and I both majored in Communication Studies, which provided a common interest, but even outside the academic realm there never seemed to be a shortage of areas for discussion. I won’t say he wasn’t interested in my body, but he always respected my decision to wait until I was married to have sex.

Richie and I were friends before we started dating, which has its advantages, one of which is by the time we started dating he had already seen the real me. The loud, silly, bacon loving, frizzy haired, charismatic, size 8. That is the girl he fell in love with.

The advantage to creating a checklist of traits you don’t want as opposed to a never-ending list of must haves is that you enable yourself to see your potential mate for who they really are and not who you want to make them into. Because the truth is, as much as you may believe you can, you cannot change another person, no matter how much you love them or how much they love you. That is why, whatever your expectations, if a potential partner does not meet them, you will both be much happier if you cut your losses and move on than if you spend the next ten years trying to change that person. I tell you that as someone who spent three years a very miserable size four, blond vegetarian.

But, then it happens! You find someone who isn’t all the things you don’t want. It may be someone you have known for years or it may be someone you just met. All you know is that this is the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. And you should. Because when you know, you know. And when that happens, I promise, you won’t need to date one more person to figure it out. Because your list will be complete.

How did you know he or she was The One? Share your thoughts.

Waiting for true love's first kiss

Like most little girls who grew up reading fairy tales and watching Disney movies, I had a lot of preconceived ideas about what my first kiss would be like. Although I hadn't quite worked out all of the logistics I felt somewhat confident that it would take place in a picturesque setting, with my own theme song playing softly in the background, and small woodland creatures nearby cheering me on or perhaps making some kind of chocolaty snack that my boyfriend and I could share after that magical moment when our spirits and our lips combined to be one.

While this may seem far fetched, keep in mind that I grew up in Montana, so the serene setting and woodland creatures actually shouldn't have been that hard to come by. But alas, the waiting room for my first kiss was not filled with sunshine and butterflies, but instead with vampires and zombies.

Let me set the scene. It was the week before Halloween, and as was tradition, our church was hosting its annual Halloween party. Two important notes: this was 15 years ago, before Halloween was replaced with "Fall Family Festivals" and I didn't live in the Bible Belt where it would be completely unthinkable to hold a celebration of Halloween in a church. Our church held a Halloween party, complete with a haunted house, and our youth group was in charge of staging and executing the event.

But this would be no ordinary Halloween party. This was a night where destiny was shining down on me. My boyfriend, whom I had been dating for three weeks, would be at the party and I was sure that this would be the night where I would move from being 15 and never been kissed to 15 and breathless, wobbly knees, hold me close or I may fall to the ground and need to be resuscitated by yet another kiss. Now, as adults, three weeks may not seem like a long time, but three weeks in the high school First Kiss Waiting Room is like six months in the real world - it's kind of like dog years vs. human years.

Other than a few games of spin the bottle at birthday parties, I had never actually been kissed. However, because of my duties in the haunted house, I was literally stuck in the attic most of the night. I don't know if you have ever worked in a haunted house, but these types of jobs are different then your average day job. As visitors entered the haunted house, my job was to scream at the top of my lungs and them lunge at them with my hands covered in "blood" (a mixture of Karo syrup and food coloring - much more realistic than ketchup for those of you keeping score).

Mid-way through the party, I went downstairs for a quick boyfriend check and what did I see? Another girl, we will call her Jessica Rabbit for the moment, was sitting on his knee. There she was in her size four stone washed jeans, flipping her long blond hair back over her shoulder and laughing at him like she thought he was funny. I was devastated. I was supposed to be pretending he was funny and flipping my hair around - or something - and while I'm busy scaring the begezzes out of people, Ms. Rabbit was moving in on my man!

Well, as you can imagine, I did what any intelligent, loving, Christian, girl would do in this situation; I had my best friend tip me off when little Ms. Rabbit was coming through the haunted house where somehow an entire bowl of fake blood was accidentally doused on that pretty blond hair of hers. Very reminiscent of the scene in Stephen King's Carrie only much more satisfying and well-deserved.

Unfortunately, this mishap caused her to have to leave the party early, putting my plans back on track.

As the party started to wind down, I knew I had to make my move. My boyfriend started walking out to the car with his friends and I walked out with him, my hands, hair and shirt all stained with red Karo syrup. I looked more like a trauma victim than a princess. And although there was a distinct lack of squirrels and bunnies there were plenty of power rangers, spider men, and Barbies with plastic masks who had gathered around. The little munchkins seemed to sense that something magical was about to happen and they wanted to be a part of it. That and all the candy had run out inside the party. In fact, I can't think of anything that could have made the night less romantic, except possibly if my head would have started spinning a' la The Exorcist. But at this point I was committed and nothing was going to stop me from leaving that sidewalk without a kiss.

I quickly reached up and gave him a hug and thanked him for coming. He started to pull away, but I kept my arms around his neck and the hug lingered. Our eyes locked and I knew this was it. He started moving in closer and our lips were so close that they were just about to touch. I stood up on my tip toes so that I could reach his lips. I noticed that he closed his eyes so I closed mine as well. I tilted my head just slightly and took a deep breath in. The air around us was chilly, so I could feel my breath as I breathed out slowly and my lips finally touched his.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds and then I felt his arms loosen. He said something about talking to me later, got in the car and drove away.

I looked up at the beautiful night sky above me determined to take in all the sights and sounds of the moment, took a deep breath, and began to cry.

It was awful!

It was sort of like when you get a piece of meat in your mouth and you have to keep chewing it and chewing it but you can't swallow it so eventually you have to just spit it out.

How could something I had waited my entire life for be so incredibly terrible? Was it me? Was I a horrible kisser? I mean, I really didn't have much practice, other than the pillow, my hand, and the inevitable truth or dare games. I had read a lot of Judy Blume books and even a few of my mom's Harlequin romance novels, which I was sure would have prepared me for this night. I wasn't expecting actual fireworks, I wasn't that naive, but I wasn't expecting the night to end in tears. Come on!

The night ended with me crying to my best friend and my dad taking us out for Happy Meals, which I still contend can fix almost anything. There is some kind of happy chemical in those french fries . . . I'm just saying.

My first boyfriend did not end up being my true love, although he did end up one of my closest friends in high school and college. It's funny how life works out that way.

I've had a lot of kisses along the way, some good and some not so good, but perhaps none quite as memorable as that first.