Rejection is God’s Protection: A Blind Date, a Wake-Up Call, and a Love Letter to Myself.

It had been a month-long soiree of texts, exchanged pictures, and bedtime phone calls. My new potential love interest and I became Facebook friends, leaving flirty comments on each other’s pages. After a couple of weeks, we took the plunge into an actual video call.

If you’ve done online dating, you know each stage is a mini gauntlet:
First, you choose a picture, checking the visual box. Then you text to make sure they can spell. Then it’s the phone call: Can you tolerate their voice? And finally, the video call. If they pass that, there’s hope.

At the appointed time, I sat in front of my computer and turned on the camera. After three weeks of phone calls, seeing his face on screen was a bit of a shock, and a bit of a relief. He clearly wasn’t used to video; the camera angle wasn’t flattering, and he looked older than his pictures. His somber expression surprised me; it didn’t match the upbeat, funny guy I’d been talking to.

Still, I stayed open.

“OK,” I said after a bit of chatting. “I’ll stand up so you can see my whole body.”
I got up, took off my outer shirt, and did a little twirl. “That’s me,” I said.

“Nice,” he replied, and stood up too. I liked that he was tall. On one of our early phone calls, I’d nervously asked about his height. “Six-two,” he said.

Oh my. I swooned. I love a tall man. All of my husbands had been over six feet. I guess that’s my type.

“I want to meet you,” he said. “Let’s not waste any more time. I’m ready.”

So we made plans. Each of us would drive two hours to a halfway point and meet the following weekend.

As the day got closer, my nerves grew. At this point, I had begun to like him, and I wanted to believe he liked me too. We had talked about the future—would our dogs get along? Could this be something real?

“What are you worried about?” he asked on one of our nightly check-ins.

“You’ve seen my pictures. Facebook loves me. I look better in photos.” I guess I was worried about my wrinkles.

“We’ve video chatted,” he said. “Although it was kind of pixelated. Relax. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

I joked, “I might have a tic!”

But underneath the joking, I was invested. I had been honest with him; he knew my real age. I trusted him.

It wasn’t his looks I was attracted to. Except for the height requirement, I wasn’t concerned with the exterior. I was looking for character, communication, connection. And I thought we had that.

I barely slept the night before. What if it didn’t work out? What if it did? Was I ready to share time, space, and the remote with someone again? I had been a lone wolf for so long.

The morning of the date, I prayed: “God, guide my steps. Be with me today. Help me say and do the right things.”

I arrived at the harbor first, wearing a flattering blouse that blew gently in the breeze. I positioned myself against a backdrop of boats, sucked in my stomach, and took a calming breath. When I saw him walking toward me, I smiled and waved. Showtime.

We hugged. I gave him a quick kiss on the mouth; it felt natural after so many conversations. But he didn’t seem especially enthusiastic. I chalked it up to nerves.

We had lunch by the water and walked afterward, arm in arm. We sat on a bench and made small talk. It was a gorgeous day. I was happy. A couple asked us to take their picture, and I asked them to take ours. We looked like a couple. We felt like one to me.

But he made no mention of extending our time. No suggestion to spend more of the weekend together. I offered to show him a resort nearby, somewhere we could walk and talk more. He agreed.

Before we parted ways to drive separately, I realized something: he hadn’t complimented me once. Not about my looks, not even a simple “you look nice.” Was I imagining things? Or was this just not reciprocal?

We arrived at the hotel, wandered the gardens, watched a volleyball game on the beach, and then sat on a terrace where a wedding was being set up.

Then he asked: “What are you doing tonight?”

I hesitated. “Not sure. I didn’t make other plans because I was meeting you… but it doesn’t feel like we have a connection.”

“Oh yes,” he said quickly, with relief. “I feel the same.”

Wow. That was a fast switch.

He explained that he didn’t want to hurt me, that he loved talking with me about life and business—blah blah blah.

Meanwhile, in my head, I was tallying up the cost of this date:
Car rental.
House sitter.
Bikini wax (just in case).
Blow-dry.
Eyelashes.

And underneath all that, the emotional energy I had invested in someone I had never even met in person until that day.

It was a wake-up call. I forgot the most important relationship, the one with myself. I got caught up in a fantasy.

I say I want a relationship, but that doesn’t mean I can pick someone off a dating site and expect instant chemistry or connection. That takes time. Trust. Real compatibility.

So I drove home questioning everything.

Why didn’t he like me?
Was I too old? Too heavy? Too wrinkled?

All of those questions chipped away at my sense of worth—until I stopped myself.

Stop.

You are perfect.
You are lovely.
You are warm and wonderful.

God knew this was not your guy.

When the right person shows up, it won’t feel forced. It will feel right. It will feel easy.

But until then, I have the most important relationship of all; the one with myself.

I love spending time with me. I love who I am, inside and out. I’m grateful for every day I have on this planet. I am blessed and highly favored.

Nothing happens by accident in God’s world.

Rejection is God’s protection.
And for that, I say thank you.

All is well.