Dating in LA as a Christian African girl already feels like a faith walk in six-inch heels—slightly unstable, slightly delusional, and fully dependent on grace. After surviving Abraham the aspiring rapper-prophet (who rhymed “salvation” with “situation” during prayer), I took a break.
But after a 21-day fast, three friends telling me to “just put myself out there,” and a late-night scroll through a Christian dating app that shall remain nameless (because I still might sue), I matched with Esau.
Yes. Esau. As in Jacob’s brother. As in red stew Esau. I should have known.
The Introduction: “You Seem Wifeable”
His first message was, “You look like the kind of woman who could pray me through generational curses.”
Now, most girls would run. But me? I saw potential. I saw…healing ministry.
Spoiler alert: I was the one who needed prayer by the end.
The Ride: Minivan from a Past Life
He offered to pick me up for brunch. I hesitated—but he said “God told him to pursue with intention,” and listen… those are dangerous words to a woman who’s been on too many coffee dates where the man can’t even spell “intentional.”
So I agreed.
He showed up in a silver minivan. Not a new one. Not even a family-friendly one. This minivan looked like it had served in ministry, retired, and then got recalled. There were gospel CDs on the dashboard and one of those “WWJD – What Would Jesus Do?” bracelets hanging from the rearview mirror like a warning sign.
When I got in, he said, “Before we eat, I need to share something the Lord put on my heart.”
I braced myself.
He pulled out a laminated sheet of paper.
Front and back.
Titled: “Qualities of My Future Proverbs 31 Wife.”
Y’all.
Some highlights included:
– “Submits without side-eye.”
-“Can birth twins with no epidural.”
-“Can cook oxtail & quote Scripture simultaneously.”
-“Tithes before she tips.”
-“Keeps her natural hair “for kingdom authenticity.”
I blinked three times and whispered, “Jesus… please send help.”
Brunch: A Table for Three (Me, Him, and His Mama)
We get to brunch. I order pancakes. He orders tea. Just tea. Because he’s “on a spiritual detox to hear from God more clearly.” Which is fine—until I realize I am his first post-fast social interaction. I am basically his communion bread.
Midway through me trying to butter my pancakes in peace, he says,
“So, I showed your picture to my mom…”
I choked.
“Sorry—what?”
“Yeah, I showed her your profile. She thinks you’re beautiful, but she’s concerned you’re not covered enough in your photos. She says you seem like you might question headship.”
I had on a long sleeve blouse and jeans in my profile picture. Ma’am, I looked like I was about to lead midweek Bible study—not a trap concert.
He then added, “But don’t worry, I told her I’d disciple you.”
Excuse me?
But it didn’t stop there.
He went on to say, and I quote:
“I really think you should spend a weekend at my mom’s house… to prove yourself as a virtuous woman. You know, show her you can be a real Proverbs 31 wife.”
I stared at him, fork mid-air. “You want me to go live with your mom… to do what, exactly?”
“She can observe you—how you cook, how you carry yourself, your quiet spirit. You’ll bond. She’s been through a lot—five marriages, five baby daddies, but she’s got wisdom. I’m looking for a woman who can learn from her.”
Learn. From. Her.
Sir. Your mom is currently dating a man that’s not hers, and you want me to take notes?
Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he adds:
“Also, I was thinking we could start a WhatsApp group—me, you, and my mom. That way she can stay in the loop with our relationship. Like accountability and guidance, you know?”
At this point, I genuinely thought I was being filmed for a Christian dating prank show.
The Escape: Thou Shalt Not Touch My Pancakes
Now I’m a woman of grace. Of patience. Of prayer.
But there’s a sacred line that, once crossed, even Jesus knows I’m walking out.
And that line?
Is my food.
We’re halfway through this fever dream of a brunch, I’m quietly trying to process the fact that this man just invited me to go audition at his mama’s house, and what does Esau do?
This man… reaches over… and tries to eat from my plate.
No “Can I try that?”
No fork of his own.
Just fingers outstretched, like he was about to lay hands on my pancakes.
I snatched my plate back so fast I nearly flipped the syrup.
“Excuse me?”
He smiled and said, “We’re going to be one flesh, might as well start sharing now.”
Sir, if you don’t remove your hand from my eggs before I call down fire—
That was it. The final straw.
I calmly reached into my bag, pulled out my phone, and opened the Uber app like I was flipping to Psalms.
Him: “Wait, where are you going?”
Me: “To the land of boundaries and better brunches.”
The driver’s name was Elijah.
The irony? Not lost on me.
Elijah pulled up like the chariot of deliverance and I got in without looking back.
Esau was still talking as I closed the door. Something about “missing his blessing” and “submission trauma.”
Sir, I’m not rebelling—I’m recovering.
Final Thoughts: Discernment > Vibes
Here’s the lesson, sis:
Just because a man quotes Scripture doesn’t mean he’s your husband—or even healed. If he comes with a laminated list, a minivan, and his mom’s approval process, that’s not divine alignment—that’s a red flag on church stationery.
You don’t need to prove yourself to a man or his mama. You are not an audition. You are the blessing. Period.
Protect your peace. Guard your plate. And if anyone ever tries to touch your pancakes in the name of “oneness,” order that Uber and don’t look back.
With love, laughter, and strong boundaries,
Your Proverbs 32 Queen 👑✨
Next Up: Mr. Perfect on Paper… With a Fist Full of Fury
Just when I thought the Lord was finally sending me something stable—tall, tithes, prays before meals, has a savings account and a skincare routine—I met Him.
We’ll call him Jonathan.
He checked every box:
- Led Bible study on Tuesdays
- Paid for brunch without blinking
- Quoted Psalms and liked Afrobeats
- Smelled like cedarwood and covenant promises
But beneath the cologne and charisma… was a temper.
And I discovered it real fast when he nearly slapped a security guard at The Grove over a parking dispute.
Ladies, I was wearing a floral dress. Not emotional armor.
Stay tuned for the full story. Because nothing says “run” like a man who blesses the waitress, then tries to fight the valet. 🙃
You don’t want to miss this one.
Trust me—I barely made it out with my edges and my dignity intact.
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