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I screwed up. Big time. I knew it the minute I read the e-mail from "Jeremy." He'd heard through the grapevine the unflattering things I'd said about him. Sitting there with that truth in black and white on my computer screen, I felt sick.

Jeremy and I'd gone out a handful of times, but in the end simply didn't seem compatible. However, that explanation was way too boring for relaying this tale of a rare romantic prospect to a couple of my single friends. So I'd utilized a few tools that make any story more entertaining: humor and exaggeration.

While these things had made everyone laugh and commiserate, and thus had made me the hit of our lunchtime gathering, they certainly hadn't painted Jeremy in the best light. And for some reason, the way this conversation affected him hadn't hit me until I read his obvious dismay in his brave and understandably angry e-mail.

My first reaction, I'm a bit embarrassed to admit, was to wonder how on earth he'd heard the unflattering things I'd said about him. But I soon realized that didn't matter; the damage had already been done, and there was no denying I was the one who'd done it. Worst of all, this good man of God was smarting over comments that didn't even accurately reflect how I felt about him. It had been incompatibility—certainly not any incompetence on his part—that had signaled the end of our budding romance. This entire awkward, hurtful situation had been altogether avoidable, altogether unnecessary.

As one who's vehemently opposed to male-bashing and who loves being able to encourage singles on a regular basis, I was heart-sick at what I'd done. What had I been thinking? Had I been thinking at all? And how on earth could I explain—and make up for—this indiscretion to Jeremy?

When I admitted to a friend what I'd done, seeking undeserved sympathy and advice, I found myself saying, "I just want to crawl into bed and make this all go away." But thankfully this friend challenged me that I had to talk to Jeremy to truly apologize and set things straight. She reminded me that Jeremy and I have mutual friends and would eventually run into each other. It was on my shoulders to make the preemptive move to try to make that inevitable face-to-face meeting less awkward. And to seek earnest forgiveness from this Christian brother.

So I sent him a hugely apologetic e-mail back, then the next day sat down with my phone to try to undo what I'd done. But before I picked up the receiver and dialed, I breathed a prayer seeking God's forgiveness and wise words. "And don't let me miss what I'm supposed to learn here," I finished, realizing that second to clearing things up with Jeremy, I would need to clear out the ugliness that had obviously settled into my heart. How else could I explain how cavalier I'd been with another's feelings? I was reminded again of what the Bible says about what great harm we can do with our tongue (James 1:26, 3:5-6).

When his voicemail picked up, I left a rambling, sincere apology. Then we played phone tag for several days before finally getting each other live on the phone. The conversation was awkward. I tried to explain; he retorted. I apologized again; he softened. I confessed the pride and immaturity that had led me to say the things I had; he graciously forgave me. After a half hour of awkward pauses, angry words, honest talk, and undeserved grace, we finally hung up, as reconciled as we could be at this point. I knew our next face-to-face meeting would still be weird. But I had the first glimmer of hope that time and continued prayer would eventually bring peace.

After hanging up, I sat in the silence of my living room, breathing another prayer—of thanks that the conversation had seemed somewhat effective, and for another model of undeserved forgiveness. And then together God and I examined my heart and took a hard look at the pride, frustration, anger, and self-sufficiency that I'd allowed to build up there. I thought back to other situations with men I hadn't handled the best—unreturned phone calls, snippy comebacks.

How easy it is for us singles to wound each other in our attempts to find love. How easy it is, in our pop culture that's turned "humorous" humiliation into an art form, to be cavalier with our words to and about one another. How much we need God's grace to deal with others' hearts with humility, respect, truth, and love. The things that should mark our interactions with one another—no matter how frustrated we may get with the fractured state of Christian dating, with yet another disaster date or dry spell, with the confusing ways of the opposite gender, with one more month (or year) of unmet desires. I have a feeling there's a need for more apologies, honest talk, and forgiveness in single Christiandom. At least I know that's true in my personal corner of it.

Not long after my incident with Jeremy, I ran into a former boyfriend at a local movie theater and we decided to meet for coffee to catch up. Over mochas a few days later, "Sam" and I filled each other in on what had been going on in our lives in the two years since we'd last seen each other. We talked about our jobs, families, churches, and friends. The conversation was smooth and easy; the hours flew by.

Fueled by my recent interaction with Jeremy, I asked Sam a risky question: Had I done anything during our dating relationship to bruise him? What followed was wonderful honest talk about what had gone wrong in our relationship (geography, timing) and all the things that had gone right. When Sam expressed surprise at my question, I explained my desire to apologize for any pain I may have inadvertently caused him. And then I told him a truth I don't think I'd ever quite put into words before: "You know, the goal is always to leave the person just a little better than when you 'found' them." Sitting there with this now genuine friend, I had a feeling we'd accomplished that goal.

We parted with a hug and a pledge not to be strangers. As I drove away, I discovered the answer to my prayer to not miss what God wanted to teach me in the Jeremy fiasco. I realized afresh that first and foremost, we singles are brothers and sisters in Christ. Armed with that truth, I purposed in my heart always to try to finish any romantic relationship with a guy—whether it lasts 2 dates or 200—in such a way that we always would be able to enjoy catching up over coffee someday.

I hope some time in the future, when the awkwardness has subsided and God's grace has covered all transgressions and hurt feelings, Jeremy and I will be able to sit down over coffee and enjoy genuine friendship—and fellowship marked by mutual respect and words that bless.

Camerin welcomes your feedback and brainstorms at: SinglesNewsletter@ChristianityToday.com

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