For a long time, I have been wanting to write a book for singles

In the hush between intention and ink, Gary Chapman reveals a long-held resolve: “For a long time, I have been wanting to write a book for singles that would help them in the dating process and in getting ready for marriage. Most of my writing, I’ve written to couples who are already married, because I’ve been doing marriage counseling for 35 years.” Hear the current of years in his words: a craftsman of covenant turning his gaze upstream, from the turbulent confluence of wedlock back to the headwaters where two lives first meet. He is saying, in the style of the elders: if we would save the harvest, we must tend the seed.

Mark the wisdom nested in the shift. For decades his lantern has burned in the aftermath—helping married couples rebuild trust, relearn tenderness, and forgive the clumsy grammar of love. Now he would carry that same light into the vestibule, to the threshold of choosing. To address singles in dating is to fortify foundations before the weight of promise settles. The house stands longer when the ground is sound. Chapman's desire confesses a simple truth: prevention is a gentler teacher than repair.

Consider the phrase “getting ready for marriage.” Preparation here is not a shopping list but a shaping—character, communication, conscience. It is learning one’s own language of love and the languages of others before vows make misinterpretation costly. His book for singles would be a compass, not a script; it would ask who you are when no one is watching, what you value when beauty fades, how you fight when the stakes are high. The ancients would call this paideia—the formation of the inner person so that outer promises can be kept without violence to the soul.

A small story gives the idea flesh. A young woman—call her Mira—once sought counsel only after a broken engagement; she had chosen swiftly, dazzled by charm that concealed contempt. In marriage counseling, healers could have patched the roof, but the house had not yet been built. Guided to prepare before the next choosing—naming non-negotiables, practicing truth-in-small-things, learning to receive and to set boundaries—she returned to dating with steady hands. Years later she married a man who matched her values, not merely her pleasures. Repair is mercy; readiness is wisdom. Chapman would hand readiness to many Miras before tears become mortar.

History keeps a mirror for this counsel. The builders of great temples did not begin with spires; they began with soil studies and cornerstones. Rome’s engineers proved an arch on the ground before it ever carried a road. Likewise, the Hebrew betrothal customs—slow, communal, clarifying—taught that marriage is not merely an event but an apprenticeship. Chapman’s turn from crisis to formation stands in that lineage: help people learn the art of promise before they are crushed by it.

From this saying, take a clear teaching: love ripens where preparation meets humility. If you are among the singles, let dating be a school, not a stage; ask not, “How do I impress?” but, “How do we tell the truth, repair small rifts, honor time, and keep faith?” If you are already married, bless this new stream of guidance for those behind you on the road, and practice it still—readiness is not only for beginnings; it is how beginnings stay alive.

Practical rites for pilgrims of commitment: (1) Write a personal rule of life—three values you will not trade for chemistry; keep it near your heart. (2) Practice conflict on easy days—use “I” statements, timeouts, and repair words—so hard days do not invent your method. (3) Learn your love-giving and love-receiving patterns now; align them with someone who can reciprocate. (4) Date at the pace of discernment—set intervals for reflection, invite trusted voices, refuse secrecy that isolates you from wisdom. (5) Train for covenant: generosity with money, honesty with screens, stewardship of body and time. (6) If wounds from the past shadow your choosing, seek counsel early; healing is preparation, not delay. Do these, and the vow you one day speak will not be a leap into fog, but a step onto stone—firm enough to bear two lives, generous enough to shelter the years.