It was one of those prayers that come with tears.
It was a while ago, and I was lying in bed before falling asleep—the space and time when I often assess the day with God. Looking back at my successes and failings, hopes and hurts. Asking for forgiveness, for help, for hope in our sometimes–jaded world.
This day I felt vulnerable. There was a new guy on the scene. We'd been out a time or two. And I was intrigued. For me, relational interest doesn't come so much in physical infatuation or we–just–clicked chemistry, but in hearing certain details about a guy and wanting to know more. Wanting to get to the bottom of his story.
It had been more than a year since I'd had such feelings. There had been the blessing of other possibilities. But nothing that had me intrigued. Like this. Like him.
Problem is, I had no idea what he was thinking. Trying to sync up interesting and interested can at times feel downright impossible. As my interest piqued, as my feelings grew, so did my chance to get hurt if he wasn't interested or if we weren't a good fit after all. With each email and phone call and dinner out, I was inching farther out on that limb—and looking down made me realize I had a ways to fall.
The "looking down" didn't come from pessimism so much as from experience. It's just that at this point in our existence as singles, all our romantic relationships have ended. And we all have the bumps and bruises to show for it.