So I’m lying in bed last night unable to go to bed for at least an hour or so. This never happens to me. I’m a hit-the-pillow-and-crash kind of guy. I suppose that’s why nights like that don’t really bother me that much. I kind of enjoy the restless turning of my body and non-stop wandering of my brain.
Well last night my brain got to wandering all right. I started thinking about three of my best friends…the same three guys I share this blog with. Last I checked (and I apologize if this data is incorrect…it’s been known to change within a time span of 7 seconds or less), all 3 were in no serious sight of securing THE ONE! As 23/24-year-old, strong Christian men, where are their future wives? Where are the women that leave their brains and hearts wandering at night whether or not it’s time to pop the question? Are these guys just holding tightly to a literal understanding of Paul in 1 Corinthians 7 where he writes, “It is good for a man not to marry.” Are they now against finding someone to share their last name with? I don’t think so. I think there’s something else going on. In fact…I think there’s even someone to blame for all this. One person in fact: my wife!
You see, my wife is easily the coolest woman in the world.
There’s the important things: She’s a passionate Christ-follower. She’s the most sincere person you’ll ever meet. Ever. She’s really funny…in fact, under-ratedly hilarious sometimes. She’s beautiful, of course. She’s caring, honest, and supportive. She’s a good talker, a better listener, and the best friend to everyone she’s ever talked to for more than five minutes. Last but not least, she smiles…a lot. Not in a creepy kind of way. But in a “Hey that girl’s always happy” kind of way.
Then there’s the second-tier of importance. She is her own person. She’d move to Africa in a heartbeat if she felt God calling her. I’ll come home to a South African gospel choir blasting throughout our house. She loves other cultures and even more, she loves to learn. She reads important, intelligently written books that are also filled with passion…the kind of writing that changes something within you when you go cover to cover. She talks to the people many of us are prone to ignore and remembers names like a good teacher always does. Lastly, she likes food I wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole and isn’t a bit apologetic about it. If I have to leave the house while she eats tuna, that’s fine with her. She loves it and will continue to eat it.
Finally, she loves the things I love just because I love them. When I told her I was a born-and-raised fan of the St. Louis Cardinals, she went out and memorized the roster by position. Next thing I know she’s screaming at the T.V. for Tony Womack to run out an infield single. Free agency in sports has thrown a bit of a wrench into this one because nearly every player she memorized is now off to some other team. I’m not going to bring up David Eckstein. His retreat to Toronto still has her in shambles. “Little Davey” as she’d call him. Tear. Tear.
She loves Wilco and the Beatles, spicy, southern BBQ and really good strawberry milkshakes, Freaks and Geeks (R.I.P.) and the best show on television, Friday Night Lights. She makes me change the channel back to Sportscenter when I switch it to E! thinking some entertainment news is what she really wants to watch. She’s a knockout as a dinner date, but looks just as good (if not better) just playing catch in the backyard. And if that’s not enough, this may be the kicker. She loves wiffle ball. Loves it. And she’s pretty darn good at it as well (Just a heads-up…if you’re playing third base, you may want to watch out for sharp line drives headed your way).
So there you have it. It’s all Amy’s fault. Why? Because these guys lived around her for 3 years. Here was a girl who could hold down a Chipotle burrito with the boys and speak passionately and tenderly about women’s rights. Here was a woman was into Sex and the City as much as she was into Band of Brothers. She set the bar too high. Now the guys are trying to find their own “Amy”. But instead of apologizing to all the women these guys are sure to meet over the next few years, let me instead just speak to my boys: There’s not another “Amy” out there. Nowhere. Never was. Never will be.
Guys, you’re going to find your own girl. She may like big diamonds more than little African beads. She may be more into the Hills than the Brewers. She may grimace at the sight of a burrito the size of her forearm or the thought of washing it down with a little Cold Stone Creamery, but that’s OK. That’s what will make her her. Remember, I love Amy more for what she loves…than for her loving what I love. That’s what love is after all, right?
“Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.
Love never dies.”
1 Corinthians 13 (the Message)