I love that final scene in Sixteen Candles when Molly Ringwald’s character Samantha has just emerged from inside the church to retrieve her sister’s wedding veil, only to discover that she’s missed the newlywed’s sendoff. Her heart sinks, her head drops in disappointment. Her family has already forgotten about her–again. It’s at that moment, on the church steps that she resigns herself to being a castaway. But there, in the distance with cars slowly driving away, a teenager’s answered prayer is serendipitously revealed. It’s Jake, leaned against his red Porsche. He’s been waiting for her the entire time.
We don’t know if Jake is coming, but we do know there’s always a chance he will. If he hasn’t yet, never stop believing in even the tiniest possibility. Never stop believing in fairytale beginnings and magic. There’s nothing wrong with escaping to the Land of What Could Be. Love is so worth it. It feels like sunshine after a long winter. It is both oxygen and helium, feeding every cell, taking you to higher heights and an endless source of laughter. It is courage and strength. It is everything when it’s with the right person and God’s will. That is still worth dreaming about and praying for.
“And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.” (Galatians 6:9)
There have been seasons when I’ve had to restore my hope in love one romance movie at a time. My Sunday night ritual consists of a bubble bath and a movie. For months, I would watch a romantic film while soaking in the tub. From Larenz and Nia in Love Jones to Noah and Ally in The Notebook to Ronald and Cindy’s lawn mower ride into the sunset in Can’t Buy Me Love, I’d laugh, sigh, cheer and cry for the heroine because I could see myself in her. I would suspend any hint of disbelief—if only for two hours.
Commit to memory every sappy line from a movie, every love lyric from a song, every stanza of poetry. Wish on stars, sing to the moon if you must. Go ahead, I dare you.