In a culture where people often find internet dating traumatic, Lucy Macdonald’s date reflected the quiet, patient love of 1 Corinthians 13, reminding her that God’s kindness often shows up in the simplest moments.
Before the date, I prayed: Lord, give me wisdom. Guide me, and give me grace. Give me the words to say if he’s not the one for me. First dates are strange territory, a mixture of hopeful anticipation and quiet nerves. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and was feeling like a bit of a rookie in the Cape Town dating scene. My friend had given me strong words about staying safe on the date, she wanted me to send my live location to her. I’d made sure to meet in a public restaurant I knew well, so there was no need to fear.
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My date drove over an hour to meet me, just to be closer to where I live. He finished work at 5:30pm but had booked our dinner for 7pm, giving himself plenty of time to arrive early. When I walked into the restaurant, the waiter smiled and teased, “How could you keep this good-looking young man waiting?” That little moment spoke volumes, he’d come early and made sure he wasn’t rushed. It was thoughtful, and it made me feel cared for right away.
Throughout the evening, kindness wasn’t an act; it was his natural rhythm.
Throughout the evening, kindness wasn’t an act; it was his natural rhythm. He checked on my drink regularly, quietly refilling my water. He asked questions, not just polite ones, but real, curious ones. He was interested in what made me come alive. He wanted to know about Bali, about my surfing and freediving adventures, and he listened with delight and joy. There was no competition in his tone. Instead, he expressed wonder. He shared about his own life, his love for running and his current preoccupation in learning to speak isiXhosa, the local language of his colleagues.
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He also made small connections everywhere, chatted with the waiters, showed respect to those around us. And the little things added up: how he smiled when he said “Yisee,” a South African phrase used to express enthusiasm, and he seemed to have enough enuthusiasm for every genre of topics that I shared on. We bonded over our mutual love for the movie She’s the Man, and he promised to let me know when he found it online.
The evening ended without awkwardness or pressure. There was no need to define anything or rush to labels. Just a gentle goodbye and a heartfelt thanks for the time we shared. Even though I was only a five minute drive away, he told me to message him when I got home safe.
I felt seen. I felt heard. But most importantly, I felt safe.
I felt seen. I felt heard. But most importantly, I felt safe. In a world that prizes fireworks and drama, feeling safe can seem… well, boring. But is it really? I’m learning that safety is a sacred gift, an overlooked holiness. That night, I kept thinking of 1 Corinthians 13:4: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.” His kindness was quiet, steady, and patient, not flashy or boastful. It was the kind of love God invites us to seek: one that protects, honours, and brings peace.
Feeling safe is more than just a warm feeling. It’s a holy space where we can be ourselves without fear. It’s the soil where trust grows, and love can root itself deep.
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This date wasn’t about instant fireworks or fairy-tale romance. It was about something quieter but far more lasting: a reminder that kindness matters. That safety matters. That feeling truly seen and heard by someone is one of the greatest gifts we can receive. As I reflected on the date, I realised that he felt more like a friend than anything else, but a friend who reminded me of what really matters. I even found myself trying to set him up with one of my friends later, because I genuinely wanted his kindness to find a good home.
Not every connection needs to lead to romance to be meaningful. Sometimes, God places people in our path not to be our partner, but to reveal an aspect of his character. This one gentle Bumble date did just that. It turns out, feeling safe, seen, and respected was more than enough. It was holy ground, and I’m walking away grateful.
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