Since I first wrote "Pulling a Ruth," about the process of going from "just friends" to dating Steve Watters, I've spent a lot of time thinking and praying about my perspective on the biblical book of Ruth. Though our story hasn't changed, my understanding of what Ruth can teach us about romance in our day has. At least in part. For a fuller picture of the lessons of Ruth, not to mention equal time for Boaz, please be sure to read "Ruth Revisited" after reading parts 1 and 2 of this series.

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In my last article, "Anxiety of the Uninitiated," I ended by saying,

When I met Steve Watters, I knew we'd be fast friends. I pursued him — in friendship — with boldness. I suspect he'd say it was that boldness that led him, a year later, to ask me to marry him.

I received several letters from readers who wanted to know what that bold pursuit looked like. One reader was confused. She lamented that her attempts to display her natural confidence typically backfired, either scaring men away or attracting the wrong kind of guy (in her words, "wimpy 'followers' with no direction or drive of their own"). Another was puzzled that I would suggest something so seemingly contrary to what she thought was the Christian model for male/female relationships. Some wanted clarification, others wanted the "how-tos," but all wanted more details.

So here's our story.

We met in graduate school, at Regent University. The first time I saw Steve Watters, I felt that little spark. A few days later, we talked for the first time, in the library. We were there for some mandatory "how to use the library" tour and to endure the boredom, we started whispering in the back of the group about the books we were reading. He's a reader, I thought. An immediate plus. I went out a few days later and bought the book he mentioned just so we'd have some guaranteed conversation.

Within several weeks, I noticed there was no newspaper or publication for our school. So I suggested starting one. I pulled together several of my new friends for a meeting at a local coffee shop. I mentioned offhandedly to one that maybe he should invite Steve. Knowing that he had been the editor of his college yearbook, I suspected such a project would interest him.

We did start a publication — a Webzine, actually — at Steve's suggestion. It wasn't long before our team of five students was meeting weekly, working on a mission statement for our little 'zine, NeoPolitique (NP), getting to know one another and praying together for God's blessing on our endeavor. It was a very nonthreatening way to get to know Steve better and a great chance to see him in his element: writing and editing and launching a new project. Of course, it didn't hurt that he had a chance to see my strengths, too.

In the course of a few months, we became very good friends. In addition to all the NP meetings and outings, Steve and I found we had a lot in common and started doing things together, just the two of us. We'd go out for coffee or to a bookstore or to the movies. We spent a lot of time talking and learning more about one another. We weren't dating and the relationship was platonic. But I was hopeful.

During one memorable outing, we drove to Williamsburg for a day of retreating with the NP staff. Steve had some music he wanted me to hear so I rode with him. This is great, I thought. We'll have an hour to talk and be together, alone. It couldn't have gone any better. We had a great time on the drive up and even seemed to be connecting in the midst of the larger group while sightseeing. I was beaming, thinking, surely he's getting it now. He must see the chemistry here. As the day wound down, he even arranged for the same caravan partners on the ride home. Another hour alone. This is better than I expected.

We had only been in the car a few minutes when he dropped the bomb: "I've got to get back to school," he said. "Oh, really, why?" I asked. "I've got a date with Kelli." A date? After our incredible time together today you have the nerve to tell me you have a date with another woman? I was stunned.

Still, I was falling for him.

We spent the school year developing a deep friendship and by summer, were spending time together every day. He was no longer dating anyone else (that Kelli thing fizzled out after a month or two) and everyone around us thought we were a couple. But I knew there was no formal agreement that we were anything more than pals. I was at my wits' end. Here was the man I wanted to marry and he was oblivious to what a good match we were.

Enter Mary Morken. Mary was the wife of one of our professors and with a little digging, we discovered that she had quite a reputation for matching couples — over 30 to date. Back at the beginning of the school year, I had joined several female friends to organize a retreat. Of course it was all part of our plan to get the Morkens in a casual environment where they could tell us — and our male classmates — about their romance.

They agreed. It was a beautiful fall weekend in Virginia. As we gathered around the stone fireplace, Mary told about how she and Hubert Morken had been close friends at Wheaton many years before. They spent their entire time in college partnering as the social and spiritual leaders of their peer group, but never with a hint of romance. It wasn't until just before graduation that Hubert realized for the first time that Mary was someone special. He said it's as if a word suddenly flashed, in his mind, across her forehead. The word: wife.

Mary admitted she had been in love with Hubert all along, but never let on. She prayed God would open his eyes and worked at being the best friend to him she could be. Listening to her speak, I couldn't help but notice the similarities between her story and mine. I was desperate for more information, and advice.

After they finished, they took questions. Mary talked about why the times we live in make it so hard for marriages to form. "The culture we live in is anti-marriage," she said. "So many of the customs and unwritten social rules that once helped bring young men and women together, now seem to pull them apart."

A light went off in my head — I hadn't realized what I was up against. Up till then, I thought just praying for a husband was enough.

I didn't waste a minute. "So what can we do about it?!" Mary responded matter-of-factly: "Sometimes you have to 'Pull a Ruth.'"

"What's that?" I asked.

Mary went on to tell us the story of Ruth — one of two women to get her own book of the Bible. Set in the time of Judges — some of Israel's darkest days — Ruth left her homeland and her dead husband and headed to a foreign country with her mother-in-law. Once there, she found that her prospects for marriage were pretty slim.

Then she saw Boaz — a wealthy hunk — who just happened to be available and related to Ruth's mother-in-law. For Ruth, Boaz was the most eligible bachelor around.

Not content to just wait for Boaz to take notice of her, Ruth's mother-in-law encouraged her to place herself in Boaz's path. Ruth went to Boaz's threshing floor and covered herself with his cloak: That was the Old Testament way of saying "I'm available."

She made her intentions known — that she wanted to get married — and it worked. Not only did she get a husband, she got God's blessing and a baby named Obed who became the grandfather of King David and a direct ancestor of Jesus.

I was ready to follow her lead. Now all I needed was the modern-day application.

Next: How I "Pulled a Ruth" on Steve.