First Date

In spite of some (1st world/wifi) woes, this week has had its share of rich joy.  On Wednesday morning for instance, I found myself, unexpectedly on a first date.


He’s rather tall.  He’s dark.  He’s very handsome.


When I saw our names scribbled next to each other, my stomach turned.  I’m not the most confident of riders.  I’ve had a near death experience before.  That day, the arena went solemnly silent.  The only sound audible was the thundering of hoofs.

Keep her in a circle, my teacher called out quietly so as to not further startle, an already fearful horse.

I can’t stop her...  I replied.  One of my best friends had to look away.


Oh, Elamo, I tried his name, with care.  What do I need to know about him?


He’s beautiful!  I was immediately assured.

What’s he like on the High Street?  Do I need to know anything?

He’s very good on the High Street– more assurance.  His downward transitions can be a little flat.

Oh, ok… like Cookie?

Like Cookie, but giant-size!


Sometimes you go on a first date, and it feels akin to a dental visit; strapped to a chair, miserable, your mouth pried open, cavities caught in bright light.  You sit there going AHHHHHHHHH, but your heart is saying, when is this ever over, this needs to end, and oh, no, no, no, please don’t walk me home.

And then once in a blue, blue moon, your first date surprises you with such gentleness, kindness, mercy.


He listens to you stutter because you are too overwhelmed to speak with any coherence.  He patiently deciphers what you are asking, what you are trying to say.  You are rubbish, but he is magnificent.  In each elevated stride he makes, you are reminded, there is a God, because here, right now, exists this rare being whispering- this?  This is what it means to be alive.


  •  Elamo belongs to Caroline Estier.  Tonight’s post is written with her permission.  Thank you, Caroline XX

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