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Salaam, shalom, and peace, everyone. It is about time I spread some drivel across your Laptop and Smartphone screens. I hope, with the Will of God, that time has been treating you well.

This week, as I scrolled through my Time Line on Twitter, I stumbled across a rather awesome blog post. Essentially, the article was a play on the expression, ‘Love a Girl who Loves God’. Now, I have no association with the person who wrote it, going by narrative alone, I can conjecture for her to be from the States or Canada. But that’s irrelevant, as her words, and the sincerity and sentiment behind them, really made for enjoyable reading. This post was personal, yet generic, and draws in, as much as it excludes. It lingers around sentiments of heartfelt rhetoric, but also the reassuringly real. Without further distraction, I’ll include a link to her post here;


I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. Because I enjoyed it enough for me to create a personal version of her expression. The idea is exactly the same, and even the structure is consistent, but the perspective is that of a man, and the content is different for obvious reasons. I hope I can do some justice to her originality, and her sincerity. As much as I am not a fan of all things cheesy, I found this to be beyond pompous, self-worshipping ideals of love or relation. But please, prior to reading, I strongly suggest for you to read her article first. It’s very concise and can be finished quickly. Anyway, here goes.


Love a guy who loves God. Love a guy who seeks Him in pleasure, and finds Him in pain. A guy who understands Him in love, and sees only humanity in hate. The boy who grew up thanking God for his muscles, but cried after his first fight. With his sister. Love a guy who wants for others, what he wants for himself. A guy who found God in his mother’s smile, and in his sister’s laughter. Love a guy who worries about his prostration, not the posture of others. A guy who let his Lord’s laughter, drown out the melancholy of scripture. Love a guy who has faith in God’s mercy. His compassion. His love for His own creation. Love a guy who claims he’s too cool to do the dishes, but helps his mum with the kitchen every night. A boy who dreamt of putting the devil in a headlock, but couldn’t sleep with the lights off.

Look for a guy who loves God. You will find him wandering. Not aimlessly. But with purpose and intent. He won’t be saving the world, he will be saving himself. He won’t be carrying others; he’ll be saddling his family. He will be gathering the pebbles, not telling tales of the mountain. Offer not your ears, rather gather some pebbles too. Seek not his, but find some of your own. He knows the manner in which he serves those closest to him; defines him. Pay heed, for you also might be his immediate one day. But don’t beleaguer his preoccupation, or his lack of time to give away. If you laugh through the rain, he’ll notice you. And don’t worry.

He will introduce himself.

He will tell you what he thinks of you. What he thinks of himself. He’ll be awkward, and cold, pretending to be more masculine than he is. He won’t ask of religion, he’ll seek it within you. He won’t hold back. He will observe more of your speech than you think. He will scrape past the surface, to see what ideologies define you. He will say they confine you. Call him hard-headed. A fundamentalist. Patriarch. Backward. Ask him about astronomy. You’ll be surprised how much he knows about the stars. Ask him, if in the darkest hour of the night, when the breath of humanity has betrayed him, when silence his ears have married, and the earth his brow has kissed; he feels doubt. Ask him what saddles his shoulders as he kneels. And you’ll hear a break in his voice. Pretend that you didn’t.

It’s easy to love a guy who loves God. You can please him, by pleasing his own. He’s not impressed by what you perceive. He is simpler than you think. He will be wildly impressed when you cook up a storm. Even if you forgot the salt. He’ll love you for your dreams. As long as they include him. You’ll please him through priorities. Through more of ‘us’, and less of ‘I’. You will please him by hiding his blemishes, and always seeking from the sky. Through overlooking in others, what you overlook in yourself. By pointing fingers, only when you’re polishing a mirror. Sometimes, he’ll throw you in the deep end. He will tell you shallow water doesn’t breed sturdy swimmers. Keep swimming. He will find solace in your scars. He’ll say they define you long after beauty has faded.

You’re his divine ascent. Or a clamber in vain.

Let him down. He’ll remain tight-lipped. He will let silence tend to the wound your words inflict. He will pray for you. He’ll be patient. Like you are with him. He will ride your waves, just as he enjoys your stillness. And the silent moments you share, which speak a thousand words, will crystallise the undeniable truth; you are two threads, weaving a single piece of fabric.

The place you find a guy that loves God, stay there. That place is emancipation. That place preserves God. He won’t let go of this place. It’s his liberation. It’s where he found his nature. He will shake at the thought of this separation. Remind him, that to time, this place is no captive. He will question his purpose, if he knows he brought you pain. Tell him it was a slip-up. Lie and say you’ve forgotten already. Remind him, we all make mistakes.

He will marry you after a struggle. There’s much suffering before gain. And he will wait. He will wait as long as destiny calls. And if the means to hurdle the wait, are defined by moments of silence, he will marry the strings of solitude.

When the moment comes, there will be elation like no other. A moment you won’t forget. He will forever attempt to recreate that glimpse. You will never tell him to give up, although you know it all the same. You will marry him in a house of purity. You will live to learn how he loves God. Sometimes you will envy this kinship. Sometimes you will argue about being second. Sometimes you will find solace in it the same. You will tear up when you see him and your son prostrate. You will hear him tell your son that God is the absence of hate. That God is the joy in pain. He will tell your son that God lives in the beggar’s empty hand, and how we should never look away.

Time will pass, words will wither, and actions will stay. The house will echo, the walls will tell a story, with only you two left to listen. You’ll make fun of each other’s wrinkles, and sing songs of yesterday.

Love a guy who loves God. Love him for you both seek the same. But before all that, there’s a road of strain. A seething sigh, much trouble and pain. But persevere, and have faith in God.

Why all this anguish, you whisper to him.

Water only fills an empty cup, he thinks.