The first piece of writing I ever had published was about break ups. I wrote it in my last year of high school and it was titled If your heart was truly broken, you’d be dead. That cynical title sets the tone of the piece pretty well. You can read it here, but before you do, let me give a bit of a disclaimer.
I wrote the article a couple of weeks after breaking up with my best friend. I don’t mean that in the obligatory-refer-to-your-significant-other-as-your-best-friend-in-a-Facebook-anniversay-post kind of way; I mean this girl had been my best friend and partner in crime for several years before we starting going out. Our relationship was a John Green novel waiting to happen. Once we started dating, everyone just assumed it was going to last.
Christians are good at a lot of things. The guy who came up with the Big Bang theory, several of the greatest composers of all time, the woman who led New Zealand to becoming the first country in the world to give woman suffrage, and the creator of Dominoes Pizza all had one thing in common – they were all Christians.
But when it comes to talking about sex, Christians suck at analogies.
About three months ago I was sitting on a couch, listening to a couple of my friends discuss the idea of marriage. Neither of them took what could be called a “traditional” view on the subject and it was probably mere moments before I began raining my Catholic opinion down upon them like the ten plagues of Egypt.
I’ve never understood the term “hopeless romantic.”
I always thought it sounded like a bit of an oxymoron. Romance was exciting. It was intimate. It was creative and at times, it was deeply challenging. Romance was a lot of things. But it was not hopeless.