When it comes to dating, I can be something of a fearful cynic. I feel I must cushion my heart in case I will be greatly disappointed. Somehow I have expected that it is very likely that however much I like a man at the outset, it may very well turn out to be a show--that somehow, underneath, I will find thin roots. Perhaps it is influenced by the man-shaming preached from some pulpits, or from that horrible cultural idea that dehumanizes men by saying they only ever want "one thing". I can only imagine the heavy load this places upon men. It surely places a different kind of a load upon single women.

Despite all of this, there is a part of me that sustains hope. Surely every man is just as much a sinner as I am. But surely, too, there is a man oozing with the fruit of grace. Surely there are men who bear some fruit that dangles within eye-sight, but bear a greater number hidden beneath. Men who believe Jesus when he said the Father who sees what is done in secret will reward them. Men who bear the girth of their character like an iceberg. They may not feel they have anything to show, but for those allowed to enter in, they find the fingerprints of Christ covered all over the place. 

I'm praying for an "iceberg man". But then, I also am praying to be an "iceberg woman". 

By God's grace, may it be so.

     I think it is only human to want to sign dotted lines and put rings on fingers. I think it is only human to want to join lives with others for something of a long haul. In a world that largely keeps friends for entertainment or a felt need's sake, the turnover rate is high. The voices of career, adventure, and wanderlust are nearly irresistible to my generation. Much--sometimes rightly--is sacrificed in following these voices. Some things must be left behind if others are to be picked up. Some things must be lost if others are to be gained. 

There is something in the twenty-something narrative that suggests recent graduates go on a kind of wild, responsibility-free romp across the earth. Or at least we are encouraged with words like "Go do that now...while you are young. Go there now...while you can. Experience new things and take risks...before you are tied down with a spouse and children." Are our remaining years of youth to be spent building castles in the sand? If we tie ourselves to nothing, will we sow anything worth reaping?

When you are a child, life feels like an eternity. Changes come and go, but you have not noticed the bitter aftertaste of the transient lingering in your mouth. With age you begin to see Death and the breaking down of things becomes more clear. Slowly, the myth of an unbreakable world shatters. At some point, after being a mere spectator, you become the one being broken down--and everything around you follows the pattern. Earth feels less and less like the Eden you expected it to be, and the Heaven you expected to find merely flickers through moments.

Things fall apart. Life is full of things that feel solid but melt beneath our touch. But there are some things that stand unchanged. 

There are some seeds that grow into oaks. 

While we live in this age, we cannot escape the decay. But we can throw our energy, our time, our love, and our lives into Things unfading. We spend ourselves in hope of a harvest. 

We must touch a place on earth with a name on it. We do live in tents, but we must stake them among neighbors. We must know the names of the lost, and we must share bread and wine with a family in Covenant. 

There is a kind of joy in having a land to tend. There is a kind of joy in setting aside the romance of alternatives and committing yourself to the few right down your street. 
To know your place and dwell in it. 
To look into faces, studying their griefs and joys, and casting your net for the Good of them. 

And we will love without interruption

fearless of thorn, serpent, and pain

for the One who loved us first

will help us love without end