Let Jesus steal your heart

St. Valentine’s Day is upon us. What was once a day dedicated to the love and sacrifice of a Roman martyr has now become little more than another excuse for every imaginable retailer to sell you heart shaped crap at an inflated price. 

 If that weren’t bad enough, anyone who is without a significant other will be reminded of that fact with every glance at a television screen, web browser or store window.

Sounds like fun, right?

As an un-married twenty-something Catholic woman, I have to say I’ve been there (somewhat). I’ve lived just almost 24 years of my life without a man to buy me roses, chocolate or (thankfully) Jane Seymour’s Open Heart.

You know I love you, Dr. Quinn, but your necklace makes me ill.

 

Now for the first time in my life I have a boyfriend to celebrate Valentine’s day with. Peachy keen, right? As in, all the longings of my soul and questions of my worth and existence are fulfilled in this one man because that’s what the commercials on TV tell me. Right?

Wrong.

So wrong.

I recently had to face this twisted idea head on when I was feeling particularly worthless and giving into all kinds of Satanic lies about the value of my existence. I’d like to blame my weakened defenses on the emotional instability I was experiencing thanks to the fact that I’m a female, but in reality I just wasn’t turning to God enough with these questions.

Instead, I turned to a man who, although he is kind, compassionate, virtuous, courageous and charming (among other things), is not God. So as I sat in the car weeping and asking him why he was dating me, I became frustrated that no matter what he told me it wasn’t enough.

(In fact, he even told me that very same thing -very kindly- himself, but I was too busy falling into the depths of my despair to hear what he was trying to say.)

A Skype call to my sisters in Rome, lots of prayer, (another) good cry and a jarring conversation with a no-nonsense roommate later, I could see the trap that had been set for me.

It was the same one that had been set when I started a new job, whenever I tried to make new friends,  when I went off to college and countless other times; that this thing will give you worth. How well you perform in this will tell you how good you are. These people will tell you how much you are loved.

Lies. Straight from the pit of hell.

No matter how amazing one’s boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/friend/job/house/bank account/ whatever is, it will never fully satisfy our soul’s longing for intimacy and affirmation. There’s only One who can do that. And all He asks is that we love Him with our whole heart. 

So, no matter what state of vocational, marital or employment status you find yourself in this Valentine’s Day, remember that nothing can satisfy our hearts like God can. Take this day to pray for the grace to turn to Him with the same zeal that caused that Roman to forsake his own life for Christ so many centuries ago.

Sometimes people do not know what I'm talking about

I believe it is high time I defined some of the terms I use on this blog so any people actually reading this will actually know what I am referring to. So in absolutely no alphabetical or coherent order here it is:

a Hunky Boy- refers to any young male I happen to take a fancy to at any given time. Due to my track record, it is safe to assume this situation generally ends in tragedy, and not even the interesting, poetic Shakespearean kind of tragedy. More like the anti-climactic, "Oh, he's dating that babe now?" kind of tragedy. Not to be confused with The Hunky Boy, which is the man I am going to marry, but have yet to meet.

babe- a complimentary term referring to a lovely lady. Don't worry, radical feminists, I'm a female so I can use this term without it being derogatory.

footer- (foo-tur) a person in the early stages of childhood who is especially precocious, (ie; my brother Patrick from age 0-9) and thinks he or she rules the world (and is usually right). They are known to wander over to the neighbor's house to knock back a couple root beers with the retired naval officer (whilst their family frantically searches) at age three.

Muriel - a little girl of the footer persuasion who was in the elementary school class I volunteered in during high school. The stories I told my family about her were so awkward and strange that my sister decided to call me by that name whenever I do anything strange or awkward (which is often).

Successful encounters with men- ok, so I stole this from an episode of 30 Rock. For me, it refers to any horribly awkward interaction with a male that I experience. I count this as "successful" because it is a) an encounter with a male (an anomaly in my life) and b) I am using sarcasm to cover up my utter embarrassment or discomfort.

Singlehood- my current status of not being married or in a romantic relationship. This episode, however lonely at times, is not to be spent wallowing in self-pity and gallons of cookies-and-cream ice cream (well, maybe sometimes). It is meant to be spent reveling in the freedom which my situation provides me which I will not be able to do once married. Ie; eating cereal for dinner (no one else to cook for), spending an entire day wandering around Denver (no other schedule to coordinate with), watching chick flicks with no sarcastic commentary (except my own), going to plays, museums, movies, etc. alone (very empowering if you've never done it before and are afraid of it), volunteering, bedecking my apartment with utterly feminine decor (hell yeah, I've got throw pillows and chandelier print lamp shades) and living in joyful expectation of the man (not perpetual adolescent) God has in mind for me.

Hopefully this will give you a little insight into the vocabulary that is generally only used in my interior dialogue.

Sometimes 'The Hunger Games' significantly decreases my chances of getting a boyfriend

After Bible study at a friend's house this week, I decided to be sociable and chat with acquaintances afterwards.

Mostly the conversation revolved around the fact that John Elway has ruined every single female Denverite's chances of ever marrying Tim Tebow by bringing in Peyton Manning. (Ok, I didn't actually say that out loud, but all the ladies were thinking it.)

Then, suddenly, as I was still discussing the stupidity of the once-revered Mr. Elway, I heard the question, "So, who's going to see The Hunger Games this weekend?"

I should have responded, "Oh, I think I will if I can fit it into, my busy, serious, young-professional schedule."

And then should have continued, "You know, I was quite skeptical of the series (as I am with all the rabble-chosen NY Times Bestsellers) but after my well-read sister purchased me a copy, I was pleasantly surprised with both the suspense and depth with which Ms. Collins writes. I'm interested in seeing how Hollywood will interpret such a work."

Instead, I abruptly stopped the conversation I was having with the girl next to me to respond to the girl across the room by shooting up and throwing my hand in the air and yelling, "I AM! I AM SO EXCITED!"

Clearly my peers, did not share my enthusiasm.

After assaulting the entire group with a full exposure of my undeniable dorkiness, the girl who posed the question politely responded that she too was excited and so was the group of high school youth group attendees that she had to chaperon.

Hunky Boy, although across the room chatting with the babe he brought with him, unfortunately witnessed the whole deplorable event.

The odds were so not in my favor.

P.S. To make matters worse, the babe with Hunky Boy asked, "Did you like Twilight and Harry Potter too?"

I was aghast at such a suggestion, but all I could reply was, "No, I refused to read Twilight and I never finished even the first Harry Potter because I thought he was too whiny."

I wanted to go into a full dialogue about my obsession with Russian and Eastern European literature, but I could tell I had already been labeled in her mind as The Type of Girl Who Reads Juvenile Fiction and Then Sees the Movies.

Sometimes I attract creepers

A few weeks ago, I was taking advantage of Panera's free wi-fi and minding my own business, when I spotted him out of the corner of my eye.

The Creeper.

You know how sometimes you feel like someone is staring at you because of the way their face looks in your peripheral vision and then you look up and realize they're actually staring at something behind you? Well, this was not one of those times.

I feel a pony-tailed, cowboy-shirt wearing man's eyes boring into my face. So of course, I tell myself, "There must be an interesting, commercially manufactured excuse for art behind my head that he really likes," and go about my business. However, minutes wear on and Pony-tail's gaze has not lifted.

Luckily, my battery starts to die, so I had to shift across the aisle to sit in a booth with an outlet. I am immediately relieved when I realize I'm finally out of Pony-tail's line of vision.

However, when Pony-tail moved to a booth putting me within his line of vision, I realized my worst fears: Pony-tail was actually the Creeper.

I look up again to verify my realization. And yes, there he was staring at my face like I was some commercially manufactured excuse for art that he found interesting.

I consider picking up the phone to talk to my pretend boyfriend, but I can't think of anything interesting to say to my pretend boyfriend, so I just sit there and glare at my computer screen.

All my fears come to a paramount when Creeper stands up and begins to walk towards me. Luckily, I've had time to slip my ring over to my left hand, but it's not enough. He stands in front of me until I take out my earbuds and look up.

"Pardon me, but are you waiting for someone?"

"Yes, my hunky body-building boyfriend just got finished skinning a hefty 10-point buck and is on his way over to shower me with roses and love ballads," I should have said.

Instead, I smile and say, "No," and put my earbuds in and go back to glaring at my computer screen.

Now I know how that M&M and his Pretzel friend felt.