The Dating Manifesto: A Drama-Free Plan for Pursuing Marriage with Purpose

By Lisa Anderson

Finally, a no-holds-barred word on dating, preparing for marriage and maximizing singleness from someone who’s actually living it.
Your attitudes about marriage and the path to marriage are wrong. Some you’ve inherited, some you’ve simply bought—hook, line, and sinker—and some you’ve made up yourself. They have translated into bad action (or no action) in dating and relationships. But it’s not too late; you can break the cycle of dating dysfunction and learn to honor marriage, marry well, and live intentionally while you wait. Lisa Anderson proves it’s possible.

The Dating Manifesto is neither a cheesy formula for finding a spouse nor a feel-good book about how the person for you is “out there” if you only “believe.”Instead, it’s a challenge to wise up, own your junk, and chart a bold new course for your relationship future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David C Cook
• Release date: Aug 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781434709356

Lisa Anderson

Lisa is an Army veteran with a degree in Medical records. She has been writing for most of her life and has always loved to put a bit of morals in the choices. She currently lives in Washington State with her husband and cat. Lisa has a love of Ancient Egypt and blogging.

Book preview

life.

PROLOGUE

No Single Riders

It was a dark and stormy night.

Okay, not really. It was dark, but pretty warm and quiet on that mid-September evening. I had attended a meeting after work, then met a friend for a late dinner. Now driving home with my moonroof open and stereo blaring, I looked forward to nothing more than walking through my front door, showering, and tumbling into bed.

That’s when I saw it.

It danced at the corner of my eye at first. It was unusual—out of place. I felt immediately that something was different, that this well-worn route in the middle of town had a new attraction. Only when I approached the busy intersection and glanced left did I behold it in all its glory.

A carnival.

Yes, the picture you have in your head right now is spot on. This was that kind of carnival. The kind that blows into town from some nondescript city, attracts seedy characters, violates health and safety codes, employs ex-cons, and lures unsuspecting single women on their way home from late meetings and dinners with friends.

Perhaps it was the bright lights, or more likely the fact that I love anything that smacks of an amusement park (because as a member of generation X, amusing myself rates pretty high on my list of priorities), but I decided immediately that I was going to ride the Ferris wheel. I’m not sure why I chose the Ferris wheel; probably because the vision of my cackling gleefully by myself on the Scrambler was embarrassing. Or worse, my riding the Himalaya, the deafening squeal of ’70s arena rock music shaking the entire structure, and answering the ride operator’s shout of "Do you wanna go faaaaaaaaster?" with Yeeeeaaaaaaaah!

But here I was at my spontaneous best: the Lisa who leaves margin for fun, creates experiences, and laughs in the face of self-consciousness and convention; the Lisa I wish I were far more often. Fun Lisa quickly cut across two lanes of traffic to swing into the carnival’s parking lot. I parked, stepped out of my car, slammed the door shut, and threw my keys into my purse. Blissfully unconcerned that I was still in a pencil skirt and heels after a long day at the office, I strode purposefully toward the carnival entrance.

I looked at my watch; it was almost ten o’clock. I probably should’ve questioned the wisdom of a girl wandering alone through a carnival late at night, but it honestly never crossed my mind. The scene before me was pretty empty, and most of the rides were eerily motionless, including the Ferris wheel. Still, as I stepped up to a rickety booth to purchase my tokens, the attendant assured me that the Ferris wheel was good to go; it just needed riders.

The wheel loomed above me as I approached it. Its red and yellow lights danced (the ones that weren’t burned out; this wasn’t Disneyland, people), synchronized to a gurgling tune that made me think of acrobats and cotton candy. The ride operator was slumped against the gate, smoking. My mind flew back many years to the time I asked a carnival ride operator how he determined the length of a ride. You’re done when I’ve smoked two cigarettes, he replied smoothly. I was hoping for at least a two-cigarette ride tonight.

Hi! I called out eagerly, fixing a grin on Smokey. Hey, he said. I ignored his unwillingness to match my enthusiasm; I was too busy picturing myself moments from now, floating above the city while reflecting on my day and maybe talking to God a bit. Maybe I’d rattle off what I was thankful for. Maybe I’d make a mental list of goals to accomplish in the coming weeks. Perhaps I’d even allow myself a moment of self-congratulation, a certain smugness for being so carpe diem. I make things happen. It is so cool to be me.

I wanna ride the Ferris wheel! I said as I held out my hand, exposing the five tokens representing the ridiculous sum I’d agreed to pay for one ride.

Cool, said Smokey. But you need someone else to ride with you.

Oh, I said. I guess that makes sense, I thought. After all, I was the only one there, and if I were the owner of a seedy carnival, I’d do my best to turn a profit. Operating a Ferris wheel for just one person obviously wouldn’t accomplish that. How much does it cost to operate a Ferris wheel, anyway? I’ll have to google that. In the meantime, I waited.

I looked about for potential Ferris wheel comrades, but no one was nearby. I turned imploringly upon Smokey, and he just shrugged sadly. Lame. Of course this would happen to me. I drummed my fingers impatiently against the railing. Then, out of nowhere, a group of teens approached the ride.

There! I said triumphantly. Now there are enough people, right? I held my token-laden hand out once more.

"No, you need at least two people per bucket," he answered.

You’re joking, right?

I’m not. I’m sorry, lady. No single riders.

Excuse me? It was as if he’d announced at the top of his lungs that I had leprosy. Or a criminal record. Or an unhealthy obsession with Justin Bieber. I immediately felt self-conscious and—what’s the word?—ashamed.

No single riders.

The teenagers, all of whom had witnessed the scene, whisked past me to get on the ride. One guy—he looked to be about sixteen, with meticulously gelled hair, pierced ears, and several nondescript tattoos—jerked a thumb at whom I assumed was his girlfriend as he turned to me and said, If I wasn’t with her, I would ride with you.

Thanks, I mumbled, and turned away. He probably thought I was a mom whose kids had ditched her to hang out by the restrooms and text their friends. I scanned the area, looking down the corridor toward the rows of games and snack vendors. My hope was to find someone wandering about alone, someone whose companionship I could buy so I could have my wish.

I saw no one. Where was everybody? I glanced back at the Ferris wheel and saw Smokey, slumped against the gate, eyes half shut, still smoking. I’m pretty sure he’d already forgotten about me. I could hear the happy murmur of teen voices high above me in the night sky.

Deflated and feeling utterly foolish, I tossed the tokens into my purse, walked back to my car, and climbed inside. With my hands on the steering wheel, I burst into tears.

I had never felt more single in my entire life.

You see, I’m single. I always have been. And most of the time, I’m okay with it. But sometimes a night like that carnival night comes along.

That poor ride operator didn’t know my heart. He didn’t know my story. Neither did those carefree teenagers. It’s not as if the carnival world conspired to make me feel terrible that evening. But as I drove home, endangering myself and other motorists with my tear-blurred vision, none of that mattered. What mattered was that I felt incredibly alone. And marginalized. And forgotten. Seen through the lens of my own story, the definition of single rider went in mere moments from person riding the Ferris wheel solo to freakish single woman spurned by society, left to rot in her spinsterhood, isolated and unwanted.

I pulled into my garage, went into the house, powered up my computer, and sat down to record what happened; I didn’t want to forget the details. I knew right then that if I ever wove my story into a book, the Ferris wheel debacle would be included.

Well, this is that book.

If you’re single, you may feel as I did when I drove home from the carnival—that feeling of being forgotten, of being left behind, is palpable. Your life, and particularly your opposite-sex relationships, haven’t turned out as you’d hoped. You wonder how you arrived where you are now, because it’s not what you had planned in your head way back when you started dreaming. You’re frustrated, maybe for good reason.

Or you may be in an entirely different place. You may be feeling pretty good about life right now. You’re getting your feet wet, exploring all kinds of possibilities, dating a bit, or waiting to date until after you’ve lived life a little. Still, you’re wondering if you really know all there is to know. You fear that you may be coasting, or even wasting time, and you don’t know what to do about it.

If anything here sounds familiar, I’m talking to you. This book is not being written for my sake (though trust me, it’ll be cathartic), but for yours. As the leader of a ministry for twenty- and thirtysomethings and the host of a show for singles, I often wish I had time to sit down with every person I’ve heard from, every guy or girl who’s emailed me or found me on Facebook or chased me down at a conference and said, Okay, Lisa, but what about …?

This is that conversation. This is what I’d tell you if I had the luxury of talking with you nonstop for a week about singleness, dating, and preparing for marriage (as I’ve done with many of my long-suffering friends, bless their hearts). Because here’s the truth: I’d like to be married.

How did I come to this realization in my own life? Good question. I was not the best marriage advocate in my twenties. I was probably the person I’m talking to now—the person I hope is reading this book.

When I was twenty-eight, I started work as a publicist for Focus on the Family. One of my internal clients was Boundless, Focus’s ministry to single young adults. Boundless was founded in 1998 as a Webzine to guide college students in understanding and applying a biblical worldview to their lives. But over the years the audience aged into their twenties and thirties, and their interests ran more to navigating the world of dating and relationships.

Several years into my job, I became friends with the team that ran Boundless, a team made up primarily of three married guys with kids. I noticed right away that they were extremely passionate about the world of dating, and my first thought was, Why? I mean, they had each found someone, so wasn’t it time to move on? Why did they care what a bunch of singles were up to? No other married folks I knew seemed to care about the world of the singleton. And what was the big deal about dating anyway? Most single people dated. Well, except for me.

It wasn’t long before I found myself in long conversations with these guys. I started reading the articles on the Boundless website. I followed their blog. I listened and then voiced some opinions. Then I started voicing frustrations. I began sharing what I learned with my single girlfriends, and we’d discuss how it applied to our current situations. Why were we still single? Why weren’t we dating? Why didn’t we know many eligible Christian guys? Why did we rarely talk about marriage, hang out with married people, or treat marriage as something that was normative and (gulp) perhaps even a good thing?

All of these questions annoyed me, and I was at a loss on how to answer them. Where had I been the last fifteen years? What had I been doing? I was now in my midthirties and had been promoted a few times at work, taken on leadership positions at church, and even bought my first home. I was doing well. I was successful!

But now the Boundless team was in my face about marriage, and it made me feel weird because I didn’t have any pat answers. I think one of them asked me if I had the gift of singleness. I didn’t know—did I? I hoped not. But it’s not as if I’d done any small groups or Bible studies on the subject. I probably assumed the gift of singleness was just for missionaries or people with difficult personalities; I certainly had never considered it for myself.

It turns out that one of the Boundless guys, Steve, had actually founded Boundless with his wife, Candice. Candice was now at home with their kids but still wrote for the site. Steve and Candice couldn’t stop talking about marriage and family and shared their own dating and marriage story with me. They asked questions and challenged my assumptions. When I started dating a guy or two, Steve and Candice invited me over to talk about it. They got involved.

Before I knew it, I was talking about marriage a lot too. I began sitting down with my girlfriends to analyze their dating lives and awkwardly introduced the topic of marriage into conversations within my singles group. I read books about relationships and studied the Bible with new eyes.

I took a long, hard look at myself and my attitudes toward marriage—and men, for that matter. I had a lot to learn, and much to change. In fact, I still continue changing my behaviors and perceptions.

The thing that changed first was my willingness to acknowledge that marriage was a noble pursuit—one worth talking about. For the first time ever, I admitted my desire to be married. I spoke it out loud. I told my friends, including Steve and Candice. In January 2008, Boundless started a weekly podcast and asked me to host it. Since then, I’ve been admitting my desire for marriage to hundreds of thousands of single young adults each month.

There, I said it. I never wanted to be single for this long. I’ve never felt called to singleness. So what happened? I’m not totally sure. I know not all of it is within my control. But here’s what I do know: I’ve learned things in recent years that I should’ve learned decades ago. I wish someone had taken me aside in my twenties and spelled out a few things. I wish they’d pulled no punches and had the courage to share their own mistakes. I wish people hadn’t patted me on the head and left me alone to wander in the black hole of relationships. I wish, instead, they’d thrown up a few warning flags (or dismantled my vehicle altogether) as I veered off course.

I’m going to do that for you. I will say things I’ve heard very few others say, at least in the way I’ll say them. I will tell it to you straight. I may offend you and will certainly surprise you.

In light of this, let me tell you what this book is not. This is not just another dating book. It’s not a follow your heart book or fluffy, feel-good book. It’s not a twelve-step program. It’s not a do these ten things and he or she will fall in love with you book. It’s not a whipping post for men, telling you you’re hopeless—or worse, unnecessary. It’s not a rallying cry for women, calling you to pick up your Hello Kitty coffee mugs for a toast to singleness and, in the meantime, to hold out for Mr. Right because he’s out there.

Here’s what this book is: It’s a vision of marriage from a person who isn’t there yet. It’s an argument for making marriage a priority even if right now it’s the furthest thing from your mind. It’s a brutal dismantling of our culture’s (and in some ways, the church’s) current dating system. It’s advice for breaking the cycle you’re in and starting fresh. It’s also a challenge to thrive in your season of singleness, regardless of where you’ll be down the road.

Perhaps most of all, this book is my arm around your shoulder. At forty-three and single, I’m right here with you. I don’t have a so-called fairy-tale ending. Quite frankly, I don’t know how my story will end; I only know I’m in the race with you—a few paces ahead, perhaps, but still running.

And this isn’t a sprint, folks, it’s a thoughtful and deliberate journey toward healthy change.

We have a lot of ground to cover, so let’s get started.

CHAPTER 1

WHERE DID I GO WRONG?

My thirtieth birthday was a major bummer.

Major.

It’s not just that I was turning thirty. In fact, most of my decade birthdays haven’t bugged me too much. The fives (twenty-five and thirty-five) were harder for me. There’s something about being on the downward slope toward the next decade that, in my opinion, is worse than actually getting there.

But thirty was a drag for a number of reasons. First, my dad had cancer. He’d been diagnosed about five months prior and had just finished his last round of chemo. He looked old and sick, and it was hard for me to look at him without breaking down. His skin was waxy, his voice weak and scratchy, and his bald head a signal to the world that all was not well. Seeing my dad so sick infused a lot of grief into a day that should have been hopeful and fun.

Second, I spent my thirtieth birthday at my uncle’s funeral. Seven days earlier he’d been walking with my aunt through the airport, ready to board a flight to attend his grandson’s high school graduation. Within seconds, he was on the floor of Concourse F, dead from a massive heart attack. Our family piled into cars and

Reviews for The Dating Manifesto

[Gifty Amokwandoh-Addae · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

As wife-to-be, the chapter Are you Marriageable was an eye-opener!

[Kevin Garcia · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

BRILLIANT!
A book written for singles by a mature single who GETS IT; and she values and desires marriage. Thus, the book is realistic, compassionate, and useful.
Anderson argues that singles should prepare for marriage now and pursue it in a godly manner.
Many books are all theology, zero practicality. A few are all pragmatism, no theological foundation. This book, however, is biblical and extremely practical.
The book is also engaging and entertaining: I found myself laughing and maybe shedding a tear or two. And it's not too short nor too long. (The audiobook is also high-quality).
The foreword kindly gives advice to parents, churches, and married couples on how they can love and support singles.
Best book on the subject I have ever read!