I’m never more thankful for my husband than when I listen to single friends talk about their perilous expeditions into the jungles of online dating.
As a matter of fact, one of my friends is currently writing an insightful, hilarious book about her online dating adventures. Oh, the tales she tells.
There was the extremely rural guy who, on their first (and only) date, looked longingly at my friend with tears in his eyes and told her how much he wanted her to sit beside him in his deer stand. Be still my heart.
And the college professor who talked incessantly about his cat and his favorite hobby: analyzing traffic patterns.
Those are just a couple of the quirky ones. Don’t even get me started on the bon a fide weirdos.
It’s torturous to watch my friend endure an endless parade of guys who look great “on paper” but turn out to be strange, unmotivated, unreliable, and obviously unwilling to commit to anything more serious than a Netflix subscription.
Yes, indeed, listening to these tales of woe always makes me deeply appreciate my husband, whom I met the old-fashioned, low-tech way 41 years ago this month.
Dating websites are okay and some happy marriages have begun there, but after watching my friend run that gauntlet, I’ve also seen the dark side of this phenomenon. When all you know about someone is what they choose to tell you—or even worse, what they make up—you really don’t know much at all.
And no matter how proficient a computer might be at matching folks with similar profiles, a successful relationship requires so much more than a common interest in hiking or sushi.
In fact, I’m pretty sure Joe and I would never have been matched up had online dating been a thing back in our day.
When we met, tennis was a huge part of my life; Joe didn’t even own a pair of sneakers. He liked ZZ Top and Pink Floyd; I was a fan of Carole King and James Taylor.
Joe was an engineering major; I moved academic heaven and earth to avoid math and science courses. He grew up on a farm; I was a “city girl,” relatively speaking.
And yet, here we are, still married and still loving each other after all these years.
When my friend is letting the whole internet dating thing make her a bit wonky, I try to bring her back to reality.
“Don’t forget—you want a 20-surgery man,” I remind her.
She knows what I mean by that. She knows Joe has endured 20 vigils in hospital waiting rooms while I’ve undergone assorted surgeries over the years. She’s watched him consistently step up, without complaint, during my long months of post-surgery rehab.
He’s hated it for me, but he hasn’t hated me for it, and that’s not something I take for granted in these days when spouses are kicked to the curb for far less.
This 20-surgery man has also endured all manner of public ribbing in this very newspaper column for nearly 15 years now.
I kiddingly describe him as “one notch up from comatose” and he laughs, folds up the paper and says, “Your column was really good today.”
Is he perfect? Of course not, but he certainly deserves some brags here.
A computer can’t predict who will be a “20-surgery” spouse, but the world sure needs more of them, as well as “20-surgery” friends, parents, and children. I hope you have some of those in your life, but even more importantly, I pray you are one.
As Jesus said, “By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.” – John 13:35