A year ago, today, I was in London lying in a bed sobbing. SOBBING.
My heart was shattered by disappointment. I’d tried to find love in one guy after another that year. Three were in ministry and two were those friends you have forever that you started to have feelings for but already resolved years before you weren’t going to date. (Because they didn’t want you. Not because you didn’t want them.)
And then I dated him. He was the only guy I’d ever kissed and I never forgot him. He was the guy I fantasized about because he was my experience. Other guys had tried to kiss me after him but I think I felt spoiled. Almost like when you have European Chocolate and someone offer’s you Hersheys. The first time I saw him, all I could think was, “He’s my ideal man.” But he was at the party on a date and, although he asked for my business card, I was so shocked when he called me months later and swept me off my feet. He’d was so romantic and enchanting and was the movie star quality guy you dream about. Our first kiss was on the beach in the moonlight and it was after we’d had a date in a rowboat in gardens on that beautiful pond made famous by The Notebook.
Did I mention that I was 25 the first time I’d ever kissed a guy?
I was soooooooooo picky in high school. And I believed I shouldn’t date someone who wasn’t as sold out to God as I was and, at the time, I believed I was headed for full time ministry and the mission field. I was at a tiny school and those guys didn’t hang out there. The guys who went to my church were crazy about God but also mostly just getting free of addictions so not in the position to date. And then in college I was of the age that we all Kissed Dating Goodbye.
After college, I followed my dream into one of the most glamorous jobs I’d ever heard of not realizing that the industry was so incredibly vile and Godless that I would be propositioned to sleep with guys on a daily basis. I was sheltered and naive yet still knew if gorgeous guy was that upfront about his expectations for sex than he was not date-worthy. And they were gorgeous. And it was a daily fight. But then I fell in love with this amazing, Christian guy who was seven years older than me and all those hot guys at work who lived for their next five beers couldn’t hold a candle to a sweet, witty and pretty good looking Bible study leader. He broke my heart BECAUSE we never kissed but became best friends.
And then I moved & met him. And in three dates, after 25 years of never being kissed, I was french kissing a guy on the beach. (Of course, I never told him that. I was afraid he’d think I was expecting him to propose the next week. I didn’t know how to love myself then. I thought I did, but I didn’t.)