Today in church, a man shared a story about how his 41-year-old brother was finally getting married for the first time. He meant it as a story of faith and hope and prayer, and I usually blind myself with rolling eyes at these stories, as the subtext I take away is that I haven’t spent the past 22 years praying for the same thing.
Well, 20 years. Because I quit praying about marriage 2 years ago when the last relationship I had died.
Anyway. This man said something about his brother’s bishop who took to matching up the single people in his ward, and that’s how the good brother found a good woman to love and marry.
And after I wiped the look of horror off my face (I was sitting up near the organ, so alert congregants may have seen it), I said a quick prayer of gratitude that my bishop had not taken to playing matchmaker with me.
Thanks, bishop, for not trying to match me with one of the two single men in the ward. Because the subtext I take away from the lack of matchmaking efforts on your part is that you believe I’m fine as is.
