“Make a list of all the qualities you want in a husband.” That was the advice given by the dating book one of my friends had foisted on me. She also told me to pray. But there was one thing I was sure of: I wasn’t ever going to get married again.
When I was 18 I’d married someone I was convinced was my soul mate. Like I really knew anything about life at age 18! Now I was 26 and divorced. Touring in a rock band all over the country. Even if I trusted my judgment when it came to love, a life on the road surely spelled doom for any marriage.
So what did I have to lose? I drew up a list of 60 impossibly specific items: Hazel eyes. A deep thinker. A guitar player. Someone who loved God. A fan of classical music and jazz. You name it. And, oh yes, freckles.
With that kind of checklist I couldn’t possibly make another mistake. When I met a guy who didn’t match exactly—and nobody came close, of course—I could relax and just talk to him like a friend.
Take the guy I met after a concert in Columbus, Ohio. He was a guitarist with a different band. I overheard him having a deep talk about God with another musician and introduced myself. “My name’s Josh,” he said. It was hard to see clearly in the dim light of the crowded room where all the musicians hung out after the show, but I could tell that his eyes were brown.
Not the one, I thought with much relief and, well, a tiny bit of disappointment. He was pretty cute.
But the two of us got to talking. We really hit it off. Josh isn’t my hazel-eyed ideal, I thought, but I hope we can be friends.
“I’m glad we wound up on the same tour,” I told him. As the words left my mouth a man standing by a nearby light moved aside. Josh’s face was illuminated—and his brown eyes turned hazel! As for the rest of the list, as the tour progressed I found myself checking every box.
Josh and I are now married, with two young sons. He hopes they don’t grow up to have freckles, the way he does. I tell him his freckles are my fault—I put them on my list.