Tag Archives: christian dating

Yes But How Do You Keep Hope Alive?

30 Sep

After going out with Courthouseman in the spring,  it became clear that we were in two different places of faith.  Ultimately I told him that there was no future between us.  I came to miss his attentiveness and generosity.

I got friendlier with Bronxman in the spring also.  He is a perfectly eligible Christian man, who is pursuing me, only: a) he’s fiftyish, which is too old for me if you believe that one should stay within a 7 to 9 year range of ones age when dating; b) he’s never been married and has no children; c) he’s not so good at relating interpersonally.  He seems funny and full of witticism, but it becomes quickly apparent that he is easily overwhelmed by deeper talk.  Towards the end of summer, I mentally decided to move away from Bronxman to spare myself the frustration.

Then last week CB, whom I dated for a while at the end of 2007, and whom I had a mutually agreed upon break-up with (really!), let me in on the secret that he’s been hinting at revealing to me for months.  (It seems that somewhere between our first break-up in January, and our second break-up in March(?), we’ve become friends, which feels only slightly weird.)  With much nervousness and some embarrassment he tells me that he’s going to be a father.  He had a one-time thing with an ex and when he next saw her, several weeks later, she announced her pregnancy.  They’re due in November.  It’s a boy.  He does not see marriage to her happening. He is getting a paternity test.  I am happy for him because I know how much he wants to be a father and to have a son.   I am happy that he’s showing great kindness to the mother of his son and taking full responsibility both for her during her pregnancy, and for the son who will arrive in November.  I’m glad that he told me and that I did not hear this news secondhand.  I am even a little glad that he was nervous about telling me.   Later though, after I leave him, a part of me wonders, “Will I ever have a son?”   A part of me for a moment, just a part you understand, laments holiness. 

Three days later I’m attending the funeral of a woman that I do not know at all.  A well-loved saint.  I say to my mother on the morning of the funeral, “I don’t think I should go.  I don’t know her.”  My mother responds, “But you go to encourage the family; to support the people who are still here.”  I think of the deceased’s son Jimmy, who was my former Youth President.  And the daughter of the deceased, Becky, whom I’ve been friendly with for years.  I say, “Yes, I can show support for those who are here.  Yes, I will go to the funeral.” 

The funeral is far from sad.  There is a triumphant mood.  There are familiar faces that cause me to feel a connection to this departed saint.  I see people I grew up with in the youth ministry.  I see the leaders from my old church.  I look back and see, I do believe, a guy that I know from elementary school.  I see Jimmy and Becky, and their siblings with whom I am less familiar.  It is good that I have come.  

After the funeral as I approach my car, the guy from elementary school walks towards his van, parked next to me.  He looks at me.  I smile and say, “KS, right?”  He says, I thought that was you.  He is tall, with very greying hair.  We chat.  I ask about the organization named on the van.  He offers that the name is a tribute to his late wife.  He tells me about his non-profit youth organization; that one of the sons of the deceased works for him.  KS asks if I’m still local, if I’m married with children.  I say, yes, still local; no marriage, no kids. 

He is discreetly checking me out in my black dress and heels.  It begins to rain.  I have no umbrella.  He opens his umbrella over us and we stand closer. 

I ask him if he is still local.  He is.  He works as a middle school dean a couple of towns over.  He is working towards becoming a school principal.  We both live in the same town. 

People who know me from church drive past and beep their horns as they wave goodbye.  They walk by and call out to me, “It was good seeing you.”  I know that it will be discussed later that after the funeral I was standing in the rain talking to this man.  There will be speculation.  I do not mind.  

KS tells me about a website where alums from our town re-connect.   I don’t know if I qualify as an alum since I did not graduate from our town’s high school.  “I went to private school,” I say.  He answers, “It doesn’t matter.  I went to a private high school as well.”  We learn that we went to the same high school.  That we graduated in the same class.  All four years we both attended that school.  All four years we caught the same school bus to take us there and to bring us back home.  Neither of us recalls the other from those days.

I do not have a card with me, but I take his card.  He watches as I turn to walk away.

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