Fancy Flirtin'

I feel like sacrifice to some extent is vital for executing one’s dreams. For me, I dream of being married and serving my family, of waking up early on Saturday to make my husband breakfast in bed after his long week of working hard, of having lemonade stands with all the kids in the neighborhood, of going on long runs with the family dog, of kissing cute kiddos to bed after checking under their bunk to confirm the absence of imagined monsters. But because I am married not, nor am I close to the day of the wedding that opens the door to said marriage, these fantasies are yet to become realities. I’m not saying I have to sacrifice the husband part because that obviously negates much of the dream… kind of the whole thing. But I do have to make sacrifices to the person I am and to the things that I love in order to be able to step into a marriage with a man that I will already butt heads with because of natural differences. I fear most that I must let go of my comfortable character. You see, I am least overwhelmed in my personhood of being a people pleaser. I'm a waitress and still I shy away from taking earned money from the table that it lies on in fear of offending those who still sit there. Sure I’m off the clock and need to go home but I want those people I've served to enjoy their ability to visit without my fat fingers interrupting the flow of their conversation. To my dismay I drive my life with much effort of avoiding an offensive experience. I can't imagine I'd be faultless in my attempts within marriage; that reality makes me quite uneasy.

I’m sitting here at Starbucks, the place where most ideas come together in a more organized fashion, thinking about where my life is and where I’d like for it to be. For the most part they’re one in the same. Someday soon, though, I want to be a nice married lady. I am slightly convinced, however, that I’ll endure this life without a spouse and am joyfully readying my heart as it’s stayed single since the day after the last day I had a boyfriend. Alex Bolves was his name and he was a true gem of a fella. It’s been over 3 years since we parted and I’ve come to understand God’s sovereignty in the blessing of not pulling him down into the darkness of my life but instead breaking off the courtship so he could run free from lifelong sorrow with the young woman I was. By no means do I doubt that much goodness would have come into my life if we continued dating as he brought me much happiness throughout our relationship. But I think that much good has worked out for the both of us in having broken up.

Watching the many families come through the popular coffee stop seems to make my head tilt slightly to the left and my eyes get all puppy dog-like with the heartfelt notion of, “I want that.” But here's the thing, alongside God's inevitable control over every aspect of my future, I’m much too cowardly to get it. When a foxy gentleman catches my eye I'm virtually incapable of putting myself in his way. I think it very necessary for the fella to do the ultimate effort in pursuing a lady as an expression of winning the most lovely prize but I completely agree with women "putting themselves out there" in order to communicate, “I’m alittle interested, dummy.” When it comes down to it, I do not want to do that. While I’m rather flirtatious in common exchanges with guy friends, any ounce of playful conversation escapes me when I’m attracted to a gent (by attracted I mean I can picture our wedding in my brain). It’s as though my insides get all frozen. Hopefully survival mode will turn on when “The One” makes his grand entrance into my life and I'll be the best flirt in all the land. Until then, I’ll sit at Starbucks with my back turned to anyone who comes through the door, unknowing of any foxy fellas.