he's going to be a doctor

By -

I said it again, and my heart cringed. Why do I keep saying that? I don’t even care. And the impressed responses from friends infuriated me further. As if that says everything about him, as if that is enough for him to qualify to date me. They didn’t even ask if he was a Christian after I told them he was a doctor. They were satisfied with…his occupation.

I stomped away from each conversation after they asked me about him, mostly because I knew why that was the one nugget I liked to reveal about this new “thing” in my life (what do people these days call them now? Flings? Things? I don’t even know..).

There is something impressive and respectable about men who know what they want to do and go and get it (and even more respectable when those careers end up having six figures), but that is hardly a priority of my heart.

And other than his impressive future career, I just wasn’t that impressed.

We put a lot of emphasis on jobs; on what we are going to do with our lives. And it spills over into how we raise our children, how we view education, and how we date.

What are you going to do when you grow up, Billy?

What can you even do with that major?

What is he studying, Whitney? That’s important.

And it is, I get it. It’s respectable when they pick something to do with their lives, chase that dream down, and nail it to the wall. I get it. It’s attractive. It’s great.

But I think I want something more than a man with a great occupation.

One of the books that changed my life was simply entitled “Holiness” by Nancy Leigh DeMoss. Though the book primarily taught me about the importance of choosing purity over a flippant life, I found myself astounded by this woman and her life and ministry. I was jealous. And I still remember the mind-blowing page where she revealed that she was a PIANO MAJOR IN COLLEGE.

I almost started crying.

That was when I realized that jobs and majors don’t matter.

And when I realized I wouldn’t settle for anyone but a missionary. Granted, he could be a missionary businessman, a missionary teacher, a missionary store owner, a missionary accountant, or a missionary to Africa. Specifics like that don’t matter to me. But he will be a missionary.

My dad asked me a few months ago if I thought maybe I was waiting for someone who didn’t exist, and as much as it hurt, I think it was good to ask. Am I too picky? You know no one is perfect, right? Why didn’t you take the doctor?

And I’ve done a lot of soul-searching and have concluded this.

I am extremely picky.

The first thing I should be able to brag about him is his heart. His passion and love for the Savior that has saved us both and brought us together. If he doesn’t have a missionary heart for everyone around him (whether the cubicle or…Cuba!), I don’t want him. If he doesn’t move me to a place of deeper conviction and intimacy, if he doesn’t make me uncomfortable, if he only just makes me laugh, that is just not good enough.  If his heart doesn’t inspire me to know Jesus more, I will not take that boy seriously. If he talks to me day after day and never once brings up Jesus, I’m simply not interested. If he has not yet realized the glory of brokenness and having empty hands before the Lord, he will be too fickle to lead me. If he is unwilling to go if God were to call us to go, then it will not work. If I don’t find someone like this, I’m not getting married. I won’t do it. I’ll go pursue Jesus on my own and I will not let a half-hearted “doctor” slow me down.

However, I’m really not that picky.

If you fit into the above category, I don’t care about jobs or muscles or even personalities. I don’t care about expensive restaurants or flowers. I don’t care if you play video games or spend your Saturday afternoons watching football, or if you have this weird nerd hobby. I don’t know if quiet or big-mouthed is best for me. I have liked athletes and hipsters. Gone out with baldies and chewbaccas.  There have been numerous men in my life that I only found attractive after I got to know their heart. And if there is a man out there that meets the above standard, I guarantee it will be extremely hard for me to not want to make out with him all the time.

It’s 2 am, my filter is gone. Sorry.

Conclusion: I’m not that picky.

But I’m EXTREMELY picky.

In the places I should be.

And doctors don’t get free passes. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

limited

By -
It's the end of June, and our windows are open. After a string of endless rainy days, sopping and muddy, the sun--our knight in shining armor--emerged without its normal end-of-June heat. And so, the windows are open. My daughter has been asleep for awhile, my husband is riding his bike through the glory of a Minnesota summer's evening, and I sit listening to the clock tick, the birds talk, the cars hum. The background noises of life which I usually drown out with music or a podcast or a babbling toddler demand their attention now, greedy backup singers stealing their solos. Last night I spent time with some newer ladies in my life, none of which had kids. I was relieved to find myself able to relate to childless peers as most of my current friends have children who tend to dominate our conversations. We talked of refugees and politics and international students in Mankato. We talked of life plans and I actually enjoyed not lamenting the current 2-1 nap transition ...
Read more
By -
It’s Leap Day. I was excited for today. I love odd, random, extra things. I woke up energized and determined and ready. I woke up and wrote in my journal, “God, I want today to be purposeful and intentional. It’s Leap Day! This date only happens once every four years, let’s make it count. Let’s make it good.” So I leaped out of bed (get it) and was READY for my day. So ready that I had my favorite breakfast and even worked out and showered before my day started. Today is going to rock! … So, I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the fact that my poor water bottle is still MIA, or that I had to purchase my 3 rd key card of the semester because mine was lost, that I left my purse in my room and had no chapstick all day, or that after I purchased my new key card, I was texted by the mom I babysit for, saying she found it. Or maybe it was just that it was so windy. And wind makes me want to blow up an orphanage. I don’t know WHAT it was. But today was off. Like, ...
Read more

pointless stories that falsely sound symbolic

By -
Image
I got caught between Summer and Fall's loud argument on my run today, as the summer sun singed my skin and the fall breeze tousled my hair. Summer is like that crazy aunt who won't leave when the party is clearly over. And the entire universe is getting sick of pleasantries and manners. Fall is about to take its predecessor's spotlight, and I was running through the midst of the awkward and marvelous conversation. And I don't like confrontation, but something about saying one final good-bye to heat and sweat, while simultaneously greeting the fall's cool temperatures was nothing like the usual disagreements I generally ignore. So I ran through the seasons' quarrel and John Piper was getting passionate. I smiled as the pain my stomach from the numerous potato chips I regretfully consumed the night before while camping subsided. I smiled because my miles to go were dwindling. I smiled because Fall was clearly winning this dispute I was caught between. I smiled ...
Read more