.png)
I’ve always been a talker—unfortunately for my husband, or maybe fortunately, depending on how you look at it. I can talk about anything and everything, and bless his heart, he listens. More than that, he joins in. We laugh, we tease, and before we know it, hours have slipped away like minutes.
That’s why I was so surprised when I stumbled across a report saying dates these days are getting shorter. According to a poll of 2,000 U.S. adults, the “average” first date lasts about 2.72 hours. Coffee or drinks? Usually 45–90 minutes. Lunch: 1–2 hours. Dinner: 90–180 minutes. On paper, that sounds perfectly reasonable. But I couldn’t help thinking—what happened to the kind of nights where time didn’t matter?
Remember those first dates that stretched on until the restaurant staff was stacking chairs and sweeping floors, and you were still sitting there, lost in conversation? Closing time wasn’t the end—it was just a gentle nudge to wander somewhere else together. A late-night diner. A walk beneath the stars. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just the joy of being with someone new, uncovering their story one layer at a time.
There’s something beautifully romantic about losing track of time with someone. About realizing hours have passed but it feels like no time at all because you’ve been too busy laughing, talking, and sharing little pieces of yourselves.
It reminds me of Ezekiel’s vision in the valley of dry bones. God asks him: “Son of man, can these dry bones live again?” Ezekiel answers, “O Lord, You know.” At first, the bones begin to rattle and connect. Flesh appears, then skin, but they’re still lifeless until God breathes His spirit into them. Only then do they rise and stand, full of life again.
And I wonder—are we like those dry bones sometimes? Enamored with twerking. And friends with benefits.
Romance is like a slow cooker—rich, unhurried, and full of flavor. It’s the kind of love where you savor every moment, the way Grandma would season the pot the night before, letting it simmer into an unforgettable Sunday dinner experience.
Have we lost that spark for life and love?
Too many walk through seasons where the heart feels lifeless. A marriage weighed down by routine. A relationship that’s gone quiet.
A soul so used to being alone it wonders if butterflies will ever come again. It can feel like standing in a valley of bones—memories of what once was, or dreams that are feared that may never be.
But just as God brought breath into those bones, I believe He’s calling us back into romance.
Not just the grand, sweeping gestures, but the small, surprising moments: a lingering conversation, a hand reaching for yours, a reconnection after years of distance, laughter bubbling up when you least expect it.
These are the sinews of love forming again in which we saw in the story of Ezekiel’s vision —the muscles and skin that take shape before passion is fully alive.
And then comes the miracle: breath. Spirit. That sacred spark where love becomes more than habit—it becomes joy again.
When affection, intimacy, and tenderness flow not from duty but from delight. That’s when two people look at each other and feel alive again, as if love itself has been resurrected.
The promise is this: love and romance is being restored anywhere. Even in the driest valley. Even in the busiest season. Even in the heart that feels too tired to hope.
Romance doesn’t have to stay buried under busyness, hurt, or loneliness. With care, intention, and the willingness to breathe life back into it, even the dustiest corners of love can bloom again.
Because sometimes the best love stories don’t happen in a rush. They happen in those quiet, unplanned hours—when neither of you wants the night to end.
Xoxo,
Dr. Jordan, CEO
