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The Apartment Hottie
August 23, 2000

"' … The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.'" 1 Samuel 16:7b (NIV)

I was startled by the knock on my apartment door as I was putting away groceries a few Fridays ago. But when I peered through the peep-hole, I was stunned. Could it be? Was that really who it looked like on the other side of my faux-wood front door?

I quickly set down the armload of Lean Cuisine frozen meals I'd bought on sale and tried to look calm as I opened the door for … The Apartment Hottie.

My roommate and I'd been admiring this guy from afar for some time now. He lives across the hall and down one floor in our quiet suburban apartment building. He's appeared to be single, our age, breathing—what more could we ask for? On top of that, he also dresses well, drives a convertible, and makes polite conversation whenever we pass in the hall. Okay, the fact he's cute hasn't hurt either!

The last time I'd run into him in the laundry room, we'd had a nice chat while I tried to inconspicuously stuff my undies to the bottom of my basket. (Why couldn't I have been washing towels?!) He'd just bought his convertible, and I'd shamelessly offered to be a passenger if he ever needed one on warm, sunny days.

Now, here he stood, in all his preppy-dressed glory saying he'd suddenly found himself without plans that evening and wondered if my roommate and I were free for some fun. I did a mental happy dance as I told him my roommate was gone to a friend's cabin for the weekend and I hadn't made any concrete plans yet for the evening. (One quick phone call to my friend Kim to reschedule our tentative Blockbuster night and I'd be in the clear!)

He needed to run a few errands, so we agreed to meet a couple hours later. It felt odd but fun to actually walk with him out our front door to the top-down transportation awaiting us in the parking lot. Driving to a nearby restaurant in his canary yellow convertible, I thought, This is so cool! Of course, I meant that not just figuratively since I was in shorts and the temperature had dropped considerably since the sun had gone down. Trying not to appear too windblown or goosebumpy, I kept up my end of the small talk.

When we arrived at the Italian bistro, we headed to the rooftop where a band was playing and the nightlife was just kicking into gear. Over appetizers, we discussed our jobs, our neighbors, and our families. As he relayed the tale of his dysfunctional childhood, complete with his parents' divorce when he was five, a younger step-brother whose sole purpose in life was "to make my life hell," and apparent neglect from his birth mother, his unresolved anger and pain were evident.

Suddenly I began to see The Apartment Hottie differently. He wasn't the tall, dark, handsome fantasy-man my roommate and I'd swooned and giggled over for the past two years. He was a fellow imperfect human being with problems and pain, and though he didn't know it, a desperate need for God's healing love and grace. Funny how my mental image of this guy wasn't nearly this messy—or real.

As the evening wore on I realized my putting him on the super-stud pedestal hadn't been good for either of us. I'd been buying into the myth that perfect men exist and are out there for the finding, dating, and marrying. And in building him up as The Apartment Hottie, I'd missed his gaping need for the comfort, security, and forgiveness of the God I know and love.

So these days I'm getting brave enough to establish a real relationship with Matt (the neighbor formerly known as The Apartment Hottie). I've dropped the schoolgirl infatuation and learned to look a little deeper than his boyish good looks. In time I hope my roommate and I will be able to call him a good friend. And that we'll be able to introduce him to another good friend—Jesus.

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