Courtship questions for potential suitors

If you know me, you know I wrote a book some 20 years ago about Dating With Integrity. We've kept it in print all the way till today, thought I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps we should let it go sometime in the next few years.

Meanwhile, I remain interested in the general subject.

I saw this post and thought: "Wow! Pretty deep. But . . . even if you weren't to view such questions as some kind of "Final Exam" for a potential mate for your child, and even if you were to throw out half the questions as impertinent, offensive, or opposed to your own views on this, that, or the next subject: How valuable might it be to engage a potential future son- or daughter-in-law in discussions on such subjects? Might such questions actually help build deeper relationships . . . not only between your son or daughter and his or her potential mate, but between you and that potential mate as well . . . as you mutually explored some of the deeper aspects of your respective philosophies of life?

Please understand: I am not an advocate of the so-called "Courtship Model" of acquiring suitable partners for one's children. If you believe in such a thing, I'm not going to get in an argument over it. I will be happy to discuss the pros and cons.

My point: I am not advocating that you adopt any of the philosophy of Stacy McDonald.

However, I do think she and her husband have raised some very valuable questions worthy of your and my serious consideration as we consider how to help our sons and daughters (or, now, grandsons and granddaughters) find appropriate mates.

PS: I like what Stacy writes on August 20 in the comments section:

These . . .. questions aren’t meant to be a fool-proof checklist for a guaranteed happy ending. They are only a very small beginning in a long process of real life examination and growth. I . . . know of a few families who found out the hard way that some young men are just good “test takers.”

Each situation is different, but if you don’t already know the family or the young man, it is very important to make sure that you [get] to truly know the person. That means they need to be in real-life situations, with real stresses and irritations. I think you . . . [need] to see if [a potential mate's] answers “played out in real life.” That is the key.

One family I know recommended taking the potential suitor on a family vacation with all the little siblings. The “real person” can come out quickly on a long crowded van ride. :-)

Again, there is no way we can fool-proof our lives from deceptive or dishonest people. However, we can trust God. As we use wisdom and discretion, taking our jobs as parents seriously, we can trust that God will protect us and our children.

A list of questions are no guarantee, but they are a start. We can’t check off our list and relax. There is much work, prayer, discussion, and getting to know him/her” that must go on.

Lots of additional good, thought-provoking discussion in the (unbelievably long!) comments section!

"I don't love you anymore. In fact, I don't think I ever did."

Someone wrote on the Sonlight forums,

I just got a call from a friend. The fourth friend in two years to call me with the exact same situation. The sixth person I know in real life who this has happened to. The upshot: her husband turned to her this morning over breakfast and said, "You know, I'm just not in love with you anymore. I don't want to be married to you anymore. It's not you. It's me. I'm really sorry." . . .

In the midst of my prayers for my friend, her husband and their precious children, I am asking myself WHY? Why does this kind of thing keep happening? Why does one party in a marriage suddenly feel the need to throw their hands up in the air and walk away? Why? Why? Why?

This post immediately reminded me of an article I read in The Week just a few weeks ago (actually, at this point, about a month ago). Powerful.

It was a reprint of an article from the July 31st edition of the New York Times: Those Aren't Fighting Words, Dear, in which the author was told exactly the same thing by her husband.

“I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”

His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, “I don’t buy it.” Because I didn’t.

He drew back in surprise. Apparently he’d expected me to burst into tears, to rage at him, to threaten him with a custody battle. Or beg him to change his mind.

So he turned mean. “I don’t like what you’ve become.”

Gut-wrenching pause. How could he say such a thing? That’s when I really wanted to fight. To rage. To cry. But I didn’t.

Instead, a shroud of calm enveloped me, and I repeated those words: “I don’t buy it.”

You see, I’d recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I’d committed to “the End of Suffering.” I’d finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I’d seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it.

My husband hadn’t yet come to this understanding with himself. He had enjoyed many years of hard work, and its rewards had supported our family of four all along. But his new endeavor hadn’t been going so well, and his ability to be the breadwinner was in rapid decline. He’d been miserable about this, felt useless, was losing himself emotionally and letting himself go physically. And now he wanted out of our marriage; to be done with our family.

But I wasn’t buying it.

I said: “It’s not age-appropriate to expect children to be concerned with their parents’ happiness. Not unless you want to create co-dependents who’ll spend their lives in bad relationships and therapy. There are times in every relationship when the parties involved need a break. What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”

“Huh?” he said.

The rest of the story is very well worth reading. Laura Munson, the author, should be given a medal. I believe what she has written could possibly save thousands--maybe millions--of marriages.

If only people will listen . . . and apply the wisdom she shares.

*****
I spoke with a woman on Friday who told me something very similar had happened with some dear friends of her family. The rebound took longer than it did in Munson's case, and the pain, it seems, may have been greater. But the end results were every bit as wonderful.