I had a difficult night Saturday night preceded by my sitting alone for many hours watching Love Actually, The Holiday and Pride and Prejudice back to back. It was a 6 hour and 40 minute British love-story-palooza and yes, I cried and yes I’m a sap and yes I’m a girl and yes I’m single. Probably wasn’t the smartest way to spend a Saturday night.
There is something endearingly enchanting (to women anyway) about the “just happened to run into you, how weird is that, and now we are falling in love” love story. I think it’s the mystical “it can happen at any moment” part that is so beguiling. It catches single women wondering when they enter the grocery store, “Could this be the time? Will I accidentally bump carts with the man who will love me for eternity?” The
Many years ago a Newsweek article spoke words of doom over single women when they pronounced the chances of marrying a man after the age of 40 were slimmer than the chances of being killed in a terrorist attack. A collective cry of horror arose which if you listen closely can still be heard in lonely city streets, seedy hotel rooms and bars late at night. A horror the equal of Munch’s Scream.
Now I get that many of you reading this are no where near close to 40 and probably weren’t even born when that article came out and maybe you never even heard about it (lucky you). I dare say, if you’re single and a woman and a Christian, you know the angst, the ticking clock, the always a bridesmaid, the ‘should I put on makeup before I run out for the paper’ conundrum that defines your days and stalks your often lonely nights.
I turned off the movies and walked the dog for the last time that night and sad to say, no meet-cute. Not in the city streets, not in the elevator, not in the hall outside my loft. My life isn’t like
He clearly showed me ways He had blessed my life that were gifts that came straight from my Heavenly Father and things in my life I had badly bunged up by putting my hands in when I had no business. The Isaacs and the Ishmaels. These moments of crystal clarity come so infrequently. Usually life is a muddle. But I could see, really see what needed to be done and had a glimpse of where He may be taking me. Single? Married? I have no clue. He spoke not a word on that issue. I’m reasonably sure I am probably safe from a terrorist taking me out regardless of my marital state. (By the way, that Newsweek article turned out to be bunk though it remains today an urban legend.)
But this is the kicker of the story. When I woke up Sunday morning seeing clearer and knowing what needed to be done, my eye lashes were stuck together and there was this substance the consistency of oil on my eyes. Not the hard crusties like you slept too long. Oil. I am not making this up. All around my eyes- oil. I can only surmise that the Holy Spirit anointed my eyes as I slept. So apparently I did have a meet-cute that night with the greatest of Dates imaginable. Not