I tried to stop the disaster, really I did. It was like watching a movie and stage-whispering to the main character, "Don't go down to the basement." But the scene unfolds and the predictable carnage ensues. Unfortunately, I was the carnage. Or at least my heart was.
Of course there's a guy involved. His name was "Stan" and we met at a singles conference when he attended a workshop I was leading and stuck around afterward to chat more about all things single and Christian. We had similar opinions, and I liked what he had to say about faith and church.
In a surprise turn in the conversation, he mentioned that instead of attending the "official" conference social activity that night he was going to a hockey game—and he invited me to join him. I wasn't sure if this was a date or if he was just looking for someone to hang out with for the evening, but either way it sounded like fun, so I accepted. We met in the hotel lobby that night and enjoyed a nice night of frosty violence and dinner (both of which Stan paid for). The conversation flowed easily. Both being involved in singles ministry, we had a lot to discuss.
He called my cell the next morning and asked if I wanted to see a movie with him that night. I felt a small surge of giddiness as I told him that sounded like fun. More easy conversation followed on the way to the movie that night and at dinner afterward. We found more common ground in the fact that both our moms teach second grade and that we both love to travel and write.
When the conference concluded the next day, we parted ways by exchanging hugs and e-mail addresses. Stan mentioned driving from his home in Texas to visit me in Chicagoland sometime soon. Any question about his motives (were they friendly or more than friendly?) seemed erased. Surely two dates in two nights and plans to get together again soon meant I wasn't just this guy's newest buddy.
Within the next week, Stan e-mailed me to say hello and float out a possible weekend for his visit. His favorite football team, of which he's a rabid fan, was playing the Bears that weekend. Coincidentally, it was my birthday weekend. It seemed the perfect time for a visit, and we began plotting a whole Chicago adventure. Stan suggested getting dressed up and going into the city to see a show, and even offered to take me dancing on my birthday.
In the months leading up to his visit, we chatted on the phone about once a week, usually for an hour or two at a time. In between these chats Stan sent me occasional e-mails complimenting my book as he read through it chapter by chapter. In our communication, I found him to be intelligent, thoughtful, funny, and just the right level of snarky. I admired his high level of education and his heart for ministry.
Still, as his visit neared, I felt a twinge of doubt in my gut. What if I was reading the signs all wrong? The weekend he was visiting wasn't just my birthday weekend, it was a milestone birthday. My mind began swimming with a worst-case scenario of waking in an odd birthday funk, only to find my companion for the day—for whom I'd been pining for months—considered me a good pal. Afraid that might do me in, I sent Stan an e-mail asking about his motives for the visit. Was Chicago just a fun new road-trip destination or was this trip a smidge more relationally motivated? I told him "just friends" was okay if that's what he was thinking, but it would be good to know that before he came to visit.
I hit send on the e-mail and held my breath—only to exhale gladly when he called to say this was an intentional trip to see me, that meeting me had been a highlight of that conference weekend. He mentioned he wasn't sure how to date someone in another state, but I resonated with that uncertainty. I hung up reassured that we both viewed the weekend as testing the waters to see if it was worth trying to figure out how to inter-state date. I liked that it wasn't a sure thing (I mean, we'd spent only three days in the same state) but that we both seemed inclined toward romance.
