Those insignificant things you found, well, very significant as a child...

That shrill, ear-piercing noise. Then the smell. It's not a bad smell, but a very distinct smell. The smell of burning metal. Rounding the corner to the side of the house, you then see the sparks. Long, lazy orange sparks. They're almost mesmerizing. And finally the mask. That bulky mask with the little square window in front. 

Welding. It's something my father is a master at. He no longer is required to weld but the talent is still there, though my father will protest that he's lost some of his 'touch' as he's grown older. His welding on weekends or after his return home from work are some of my most vivid childhood memories. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I was not aware of any other father in the surrounding neighborhood who welded...he was the only one, or so it seemed anyway. Or perhaps, as a child, I was merely intrigued by the mask which, in my mind, reminded me of the old metal scuba diving helmets. I recall standing a little too close when watching and being licked by the sparks...I can still picture myself looking down and seeing some of those long orange sparks bouncing onto the toe of my shoe. 

It's a memory I remember as it were yesterday. A very special memory for me. I knew it was something that took great skill, so I usually watched not only out of curiosity but also with pride. Plus, he always smelled like a mechanic afterwards. I loved this then and I love it now. It's odd, I know. But when you hold a love for your dad as I do, you even love him when he's smelling like motor oil. 

Dear Mr. Unknown...who are you?

  Wait. Scratch that. I don't want to know that information. I'd rather be surprised, which is as it should be. But then again I find I normally hate surprises (yes, I'm kind of a Debbie Downer like that) and in this particular case I feel no different. Though, I imagine it's more of a slow but steady realization rather than a 'surprise'. Yes, this would seem more likely.

There is one thing that I'm almost certain of, and that is that I know you're a 'talker'. This is very good as I am borderline mute myself, though I enjoy and even prefer people who are talkers, which is why I'm convinced that you are blessed with those sociable, conversational skills I so dearly lack. I don't think I'm too far from the truth...after all, opposites attract, right? I believe this theory applies in my case anyway. So besides you being a talker, I haven't the slightest idea what you're like. That is, assuming we've never met, which is highly possible. If we have met, then you're one of only a handful of individuals, and very fine individuals, mind you, that I would even consider. There used to be a few more in that handful, but alas...their own ships have now come in. 


Are you tall? Are you dark, blonde, or an awkward ginger? Do you have a habit of whistling? (For the love and all that is holy, please let it be 'no') ...You know, none of these things really matter in the end, I know this full well. But nobody can help having their own 'preferences', can they? We just can't allow ourselves to get hung up on these stubborn preferences, that's all. Now having 'high standards' is a whole different ball field and very important, too. Everyone should cultivate high standards, and those standards should only ever grow higher, never lower. This may seem unreasonable but it isn't; after all, shouldn't it be everyone's goal in life to aim for integrity and a strong moral character? It should be. And if it is for some, then you shouldn't have too much of a hassle in satisfying those high standards of hers. - Wait. I'm preaching now. Don't mind me, folks.

Everyone loses their patience here and there, but overall we're either a patient person or an impatient person. I personally am very patient. I think it's because I'm generally slower and calmer in all areas, which enables me to be more relaxed, though, in return, I've found that I need patience to be reciprocated. I'm hoping that the character quality of patience will be one that he possesses. I hope, but I don't worry about it. God knows I need a patient man, so there's no need to fret about it. There's a remarkable assurance in knowing that your future and all the little details of your life God has perfectly mapped out. 

It's not that I'm pining away for this unknown Mr. Right, waiting anxiously for him to make his appearance, and readying myself to dive into wedded 'bliss'; I'm simply curious. By no means am I ready for marriage, let alone a relationship, and mainly because I don't want it right now. I could probably think of a hundred different things I'd rather have or be doing instead of diving into a relationship. I suspect this makes me A) a late-bloomer, and B) in the minority. Not all women, but I do believe that many women (especially Christian women) desperately desire to be married and starting a family by the age of 23. This is all perfectly fine, but I feel it is not for me. I observe these young women and think, "Good for them.....but I would rather be hiking a mountain in Alaska." Then after having this thought, my own ideas of what I want are instantly shot down by remembering that I'm no longer 'my own'. I belong to Christ. And it's 'His will be done', not mine.

It just seems I've become more and more settled in my private nature by each year that it really does make me begin to wonder: who the heck will be that special one to penetrate through my firewall of privacy and successfully awaken my feelings? This is the question that orbits my brain continuously. It's not an obsessive thought. Not in the least. It's merely puzzling, and thus, as introversion goes, must be mentally chewed on...and chewed on...and chewed on some more.

So there's the question of 'who', but now we have  the question of 'how': I know there's a 'how' when God is control, but in my own worthless worm of a humanly mind I can't understand how there could even be such a man living on earth as I write this. I mean, come on now, let's sit back and consider my prospects amongst my generation. ...As you can see, the results are bleak. Very bleak. In fact, I can almost guarantee you and I are now of the same mind about this. But again! I believe with all my heart God is in control and do trust Him to guide me towards 'the one' He intends for me.

But ooooh the bleakness. Actually I'll call it a pea-souper. A giant pea-souper of boys in skinny jeans and who have more styling gel in their hair than they do a single intelligent and original thought. A generation of boys (girls included!) whose 'personal' views and convictions ultimately have originated from highly credible sources such as: their peers, their humanistic minded schoolteachers, celebrities, and my personal favorite - the media. When did it become obsolete to respectfully listen to the views of others and then later on use your own brain to do your own research into the facts in order to gather a truly 'personal' stance? Yes, boys. You, silly, silly boys. When you grow up, then come talk to me. It's a rarity for me to come across one of you that's matured into a real man. In fact, I'm more man than you are. But you know what? As long as I hold fast to my faith in Christ, I still have hope, and peace along with it. I am reminded of a recent encounter in an elevator with a stranger I had. This stranger was...oh...perhaps sixteen. This brief and seemingly random meet resulted in me with restored hope in my generation's 'men'. This teenage boy, dressed in his baseball uniform, cap, and cleats, exhibited more characteristics of a grown gentleman than probably 90 percent of any man my own age that I come in contact with. I walked away from that elevator ride completely touched and wanting to shake the hands of his parents. Maybe this was God's mysterious way of lifting my spirits on the matter. It's certainly possible.

I feel as though I've gone off on a tangent. I did not intend this blog post to turn so negative; though, I'm actually not being negative. Nor am I a hater. Or an angry, bitter-munchkin. I'm just a realist. So relax. 

Look, in a way I've been spoiled. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. What I mean is, I've been raised by a real 'man'. A wonderful man. A quiet, hardworking, Godly man. I've grown up observing such character qualities in him that I find beyond exceptional. Qualities that all should strive for, even myself. So why shouldn't I have high standards and desire a Godly man with exceptional character qualities? I don't think I should desire anything less. And I won't. 

I suppose I should wrap this up already. I've 'trailed-off' too much. But then again, this is only a blog, and these words are only my internal musings on one particular area of my life. It's easy for me to get distracted by my thoughts, which normally result in actions such as putting dirty clothes in the garbage instead of the laundry hamper. This is what happens when there is an ever constant monologue running through your mind. 

So. Let me just say before ending this that, all in all I look forward to knowing you, Mr. Unknown. Heck, maybe it'll even be you alongside me when I finally get to hike that mountain in Alaska. Now this would definitely be a surprise...and a pleasant one at that.