I published an opinion piece about the type of lady I wanted to marry for my local newspaper while I was a college student. I still feel embarrassed about it. I had three requirements for my future wife. Firstly, she had to have the body of “child bearing supermodel” Nikki Taylor. Secondly, she needed to be flawless like my mother. Thirdly, she needed to be the type of woman that Jesus’ mother, Mary, would be proud of. Even though I was making a joke about the three criteria, my remarks betrayed a dark side of myself: I viewed the pursuit of marriage as a shopping spree where I had the right to obtain what I desired. That should sound familiar. Nowadays, single people can assess one another, just like when they’re searching Amazon for a blender. To find Mr. or Ms. Right, they only need a phone and a dating app, which allows them to tap, swipe, and scroll through profiles. However, their attempts to discover the “right” one will always fail, regardless of how successful they are. I ought to be aware. I was amazed when I first met my wife, Raquel, because she had every quality I could look for in a woman, but the truth is that neither she nor I knew who we were. That was only eventually discovered by time and circumstance, and boy, did they ever.
