Heh. Thinking about a Wednesday night many moons ago, when I was in junior high. We had a guest speaker, and I remember nothing of what he said, except that he told us we should all go home and write out a list of requirements that our future spouse would have to fulfill, so we wouldn’t be tempted to compromise out of desperation. He then listed about fifteen suggestions. I thought about it. Quite a bit.
Rebellious child that I was, I went home, rummaged the fake cherry rolltop for a piece of paper, and wrote out my complete-for-all-eternity list. All two words of it. Loves God. I figured that covered everything, but I added parentheses just in case: (Has an all-consuming, all-encompassing passion for the glory of God that far surpasses any other passion.) I think that’s a little redundant, but hey, it was junior high.
Didn’t ask much, huh?
I don’t suppose I really talk about romance much. Mostly because I can’t quite convince myself that I have any business whatsoever doing so, and because I equally doubt that anyone really cares what my love life looks (or doesn’t look) like.
Anyway… I would be interested in thoughts on my junior-high philosophy of ‘just the bottom line’. I mean, I could have said that I wanted to marry somebody who likes to learn, likes to mix things up a bit, hints at unpredictability, is creative, happy, and whose soul/spirit understands and knows mine. (Not a list. Just random things that popped in my head tonight.) But wouldn’t any such list only invite trouble? Suppose I meet a man who’s terribly good. Not somebody I ‘click’ with, but somebody who’s godly and who I would complement? Oh, sorry, can’t marry you, ’cause you’re too dull. Well, you’re not really dull, but you think stars are just another part of the night sky, and I could never marry a man who didn’t feel this magic I do when I look at all that shimmering white dust. Or you don’t understand why slap bracelets are just so cool because of the weird way the metal works to bend and flex with a life of its own that I’ve found irresistibly fascinating since grade school. It just doesn’t hold water, you know? I mean, he might not like the fact that I am totally uninterested in his new car — and what’s the real difference? Honestly, I can’t think of anything that a Christian could claim as essential that isn’t summed in my two-word phrase and its implications, but is such simplicity too broad?
