The first time I remember writing down a prayer for my future husband was when I was 16 years old. I had listened (yes listened) intently to the written sermon in Brio Magazine and decided I needed to pray for my Boaz/King David . I wondered if he prayed for me, thought of me and imagined what I looked like- a routine was born that I would do every night I wasn’t busy, to be honest. At 16, I was blooming but my glo up game wasn’t as strong as I wanted and my awkward dorky game was way too strong so I lost hope quickly when the hot rugby boy never noticed me *sigh*. At 17, I got my first boyfriend and he wasn’t everything I had prayed for, instead of being a bar of tall dark chocolate with hazelnuts he was a Freddo (short, chubby and cheeky) -everything I hadn’t written down. You see, I wanted a tall man from the word go, forget intelligence LOL I needed my tall glass of water on a hot summer day. We didn’t last long because he never saw himself in the future (I know YOLO) he was more of a hustler for life type. Then came the tall glass I prayed for ( I thought I did) who turned out to be worse than Ananias, together with his wife Sapphira. Then came the milk bar of chocolate that said the right things and did the right things ( cuddles included) but he couldn’t be faithful even if you paid him to keep it in his pants. When I turned 21 and got the key, I was devastated beyond measure because it was a lonely ride. Then came Darcy with the words that were sweeter than honey and he broke my heart not before reminding me that I was as organized as I hoped. I heard he fell for a baker in Tennesse (rumour has it) but I wish him well. Over the year’s the prayers for my Boaz has gotten shorter, funnier and sometimes they are just a sigh to the universe when I hear an engagement or watch a cheesy romcom. I prayed for him but maybe he prayed that I wouldn’t meet him. I told a friend about the date that was a disaster and he pointed out that the problem was me – I have terrible communication skills and me am a very judgemental person *that hurt a lot* you see because I have always thought of myself as a cross between a sponge cake and carrot cake (fluffy and good for you). The truth hurts you guys but we move on. After that, I stopped praying for him and hoping he would come for me. I stopped nagging God to give me a tall guy that was hot for Jesus and started celebrating my period because to me it became a sign of fertility (Laughing my God-Given Booty to laughter). God is mysterious and he is a wonder-working God so I bet he laughed so hard when I tried to create my own Hallmark in the wrong setting with the wrong leading man.I am tired of those messages that flood my phone when I exclaim I am rocking up solo to an event or when I longingly stare at flowers for so long and wish upon the African sun that someone would buy my flowers
“Please, you’re still young.”
“You’ll meet someone when you least expect it.”
And lately, my friends (yes those people) have started sending me brochures and hinting at freezing eggs as if I went from being in the twenties to the dirty 30’s overnight. Maybe he hasn’t shown up because instead of choosing a horse my very loving, wonderful, ride for life decided to pick a tortoise as his ride because he is sensitive like that. Or just maybe, I have been on the naughty list so long my Boaz took a hike and settled for a Rachel.
Maybe my friend was right, I am not lovable as I hoped I was. Will, I say ‘I prayed for you’ when he gets here or will I say to my bundle of fat thighs and cheeks “I prayed for him but along the way he failed to read the map to my heart”?
To be continued