Before “Sex and the City’s” Carrie Bradshaw finally ended up with Mr. Big, she spent part of the series’ final season revisiting and closing the past–Aidan. Her high school beau. Her writer beau. (There was also the thing with Mikhail Baryshnikov’s character, but we all knew that was just to build the tension for the ultimate, satisfying conclusion with Big, now didn’t we?)
Other than being multiples of her size and weight, I’ve been feeling a little Carrie lately. I recently spent platonic time with a couple of guys with whom I was involved, one of whom I dated for about six months a few years ago, the other of whom I engaged in an off-and-on flirtation for several years. They’re both nice fellows, but at the end of our recent time together, I was more convinced than ever that true love wasn’t there with either of them. I’m not picky about what men wear or how they look (though tall definitely has its advantages); I look for stuff like how they think; their worldview; and how they listen.
Two years ago, I had a conversation with God during the Easter Vigil Mass about His plans for me with men. “You didn’t build me to be alone; that, we both know,” I said.
“Wait,” He said. “Wait, and I will give you David.”
After some momentary internal confusion about whether that would be a man named David, I got it. A man like David, my favorite person in the Old Testament. A man who’s flawed, but who lives life large, the way some say I do, with utter confidence of God’s presence in his life.
And so, I wait. And until God’s ready, I appreciate the reminders that David’s not here yet, and that God will provide him on God’s schedule, not mine.
