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When I saw Michelle in my Music Theory class I was smitten. She had long dark hair, wore long dresses, played guitar and sang, plus she even wore boots. That may not turn many guys on these days but each generation has its mode of dress and back in the seventies, this was a common young woman’s statement of I-am-my-own-person-with-something-to-say garb. The fact that she wasn’t a Christian didn’t deter me. Since I was new to the faith myself I took this as a challenge rather than a “No Trespassing” sign. Thus, I pursued her, got her to say a prayer of conversion, and then discovered something—it’s not fun seeing a mirror image of yourself. For example, she was very competitive in chess, bowling, and even music like I was. When she lost at the games she would sulk, like me, and even take the joy out of my winning, which was particularly irritating. She also, much to my chagrin, did not disband her folk group with two other guys, as I had suggested, and simply sing with me. Eventually, I saw the futility of a long-term relationship with her. Our personalities were just too much alike to be a compliment to one another--plus the fact her slippery spiritual path was beset with many compromises.

     Other romantic interludes included a young woman, Caroline, from England with a terrific accent, and an eccentric artist with a Russian name. The English lass told me one day I was in the top three. The friend who introduced me to her was also in the line-up too although she didn’t tell me his exact position. His standing became crystal clear one day as I was singing to her the classic song by Neil Diamond, “Sweet Caroline.” Apparently, she was so captivated by my singing she had trouble looking up from the letter she was writing to our “mutual” friend. This time, however, I got the not-so-subtle message and dropped her like a tea bag in the Boston harbor.

     The artist love interest was original. She described me as a “potted plant” and another suitor as “flashes of light.” Again, it wasn’t too hard to guess which one she preferred. In a way, she confirmed my pastoral gifting, that I was a caring kind of guy, but also made it appear a little boring. The “flashes of light” fellow apparently had a radio program where he gushed biblical revelation like a fire hydrant. That same day, when I least expected it, she came up to me while I was in the kitchen and gave me a passionate kiss on the mouth.  When I asked her, “What was that for?” she replied, “I just wanted to see something.”  I figured I didn’t do too well on the kissing Richter scale when she told me later, “You’re not the one.” Not wanting to waste the experience I wrote a poem rivalling Shakespeare called, “Perhaps.”*

     But why am I telling you all this? Well, there are two ways of learning things. One is through our own painful experience: another way, infinitely less costly, is learning from others. Through the course of time, I discovered the best way to distinguish between infatuation and love is to honestly answer the following questions: Do you feel at ease with this person and accepted for who you are, or, do you have to pretend to be someone else? Are you friends with this person or merely a romantic interest? Do you really know this person or are you just projecting onto them who you would like them to be? Are you blind to some major character defects that everyone else can see? Do people who know you think this is a good match? Does this person really want to follow Jesus or is God only a side issue? Are you willing to cut off this relationship if Jesus says no?