A Walk with Jane Austen Read Online Free PDF Page B

every Tuesday. The place was small and dark, but I loved it for Lewis's sake and felt compelled to drink half a pint in his honor.
    Our repartee skittered its way from our religious backgrounds (largely rather conservative, which we all seemed to have moved away from a little) to Christians and politics (Christians in politics—very good; political Christianity—very bad); the shenanigans of various members of Congress; the importance of ending poverty and various other Christian efforts in social justice; and the dangerous cultural trends in American Christianity. The camaraderie was precious. I thought of Jane and all her brothers and the houseful of boys and envied the mélange.
    By the end of the conversation, I knew Jack wasn't a typical Christian conservative guy. (Not that there's anything wrong with your typical Christian conservative guy, of course, but I am looking for something slightly different.) He's politically moderate, supports conservation causes, is deeply concerned for the poor, and believes that coming to God is a mysterious process—that God draws us to him and that we freely choose him in a way we can't entirely understand. (Nothing irks me more than guys who will presume to tell you exactlyhow God works in everyone's life, as though he can be pinpointed and charted out, all the mystery theologized out of him.)
    Before the evening was over, I wondered if my preference for the dashing stranger on the stairs had me imitating Marianne's mistakes in some form.
    As we walked back to Wycliffe ahead of the others, Jack and I talked about our families. I feel like we are instant friends. He asks if I am a morning person, and I laugh and say, “No. Actually, I can't imagine the possibility of being a morning person in any circumstances ever.” And I learn that he is an early riser, almost every day. This little exchange seems to signify something (because the other skill that single women possess is overanalyzing every conversation), our moving from group discussion to near-intimate details.
    On the plane to Oxford, when I got up to walk around and prevent said blood-clot danger from flying, I passed a professional-looking guy on the aisle opposite me, two rows up. He was sleeping or watching a movie, and I looked at his screen from two rows back to see what he was watching, but I barely noticed him or his glasses or his neat hair. Now I realize that guy was Jack, in seat 24C. He didn't notice me either, alternately anxious and thrilled, in my pink T-shirt and long jeans and ugly new hiking boots. Just as well. I was having a bad hair day.

    I'm looking for two things in a guy: Someone who loves God with all his heart, with a live and generous faith. And someone who adores me.
    And built into those two requirements are all kinds of unspoken assumptions:
    He will love learning.
    We'll have great, intelligent, funny conversations.
    He'll respect me.
    He'll be kind.
    He'll be basically conservative without being easily annoyed with war protesters.
    He'll like to give money away.
    He'll be normal—someone I could actually introduce to my non-Christian friends without cringing.
    And as Jane would say, he should be good-looking, “which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can.” 11 With my apologies to the stellar Christian single guys I've met in the last few years, it's a truth universally acknowledged among single Christian women that single Christian guys beyond a certain age are weird. We used to speculate that it had something to do with the rising sperm count, the lack of sex— that women can handle this, but guys just get weirder and weirder until they are forty-two and completely beyond reach.
    And of course, right? The church is a place for the broken. Anyone who doesn't fit in anywhere else is certain of a welcome in the church. If you have trouble putting two sentences together or looking a girl in the eyes, if you are uneducated or only capable of talking to other Christians, or if