Nobody’s
grandparents
met on an app.
Nobody’s
grandparents
met on an app.
Us, about 200 dates ago
Us, about 200 dates ago
Us, about 200 dates ago
Us, about 200 dates ago
Every app has a “Christian” filter. None of them can tell you what it means. The apps were built to keep you looking, and they’re very good at it.
They begin by telling you that you’re remarkable and that the right person is out there, one more swipe away. The newest ones are AI bots that interview you and promise someone tailored to your answers, which assumes you know what you want, and that what you want is what you need.
We’re skeptical of all of it. Researchers who have tried to predict who will click with whom, using everything people say about themselves beforehand, have mostly come up empty.
People are drawn to people who resemble them, at first. Long marriages seem to rest on something sturdier: a shared foundation, a few real virtues, and a willingness to keep showing up for someone who turns out to be different from what you pictured.
So dtr does less than you might expect. We start with the foundation that’s hardest to find on your own, a shared faith, and we let the people who know you vouch for the rest.
A married friend tells us what you’re like. Your church confirms you belong. Then we introduce you to one person a week, chosen at random from a pool where everyone was vouched for the way you were.
We choose who gets in. Chance chooses who you meet. The way it did for most couples in most of history: whoever was in the same congregation, the same class, the same part of town.
That can sound unromantic. Consider the alternative. Whether your twenty-six-year-old self chooses your spouse or a friend makes the introduction, you are marrying someone neither of you can fully see yet.
Most long marriages include an afternoon or two of wondering what your younger self was thinking. The choice matters less than what you do with it, year after year. Attraction still counts. That’s what the first coffee is for.
The rest you’ll find out the old way.
We’re Dash and Krystal: married 7 years with 3 kids. We're members of Mercy Hill Church in Memphis. We're originally from San Francisco. Singles kept asking us to set them up so we started DTR.
Every app has a “Christian” filter. None of them can tell you what it means. The apps were built to keep you looking, and they’re very good at it.
They begin by telling you that you’re remarkable and that the right person is out there, one more swipe away. The newest ones are AI bots that interview you and promise someone tailored to your answers, which assumes you know what you want, and that what you want is what you need.
We’re skeptical of all of it. Researchers who have tried to predict who will click with whom, using everything people say about themselves beforehand, have mostly come up empty.
People are drawn to people who resemble them, at first. Long marriages seem to rest on something sturdier: a shared foundation, a few real virtues, and a willingness to keep showing up for someone who turns out to be different from what you pictured.
So dtr does less than you might expect. We start with the foundation that’s hardest to find on your own, a shared faith, and we let the people who know you vouch for the rest.
A married friend tells us what you’re like. Your church confirms you belong. Then we introduce you to one person a week, chosen at random from a pool where everyone was vouched for the way you were.
We choose who gets in. Chance chooses who you meet. The way it did for most couples in most of history: whoever was in the same congregation, the same class, the same part of town.
That can sound unromantic. Consider the alternative. Whether your twenty-six-year-old self chooses your spouse or a friend makes the introduction, you are marrying someone neither of you can fully see yet.
Most long marriages include an afternoon or two of wondering what your younger self was thinking. The choice matters less than what you do with it, year after year. Attraction still counts. That’s what the first coffee is for. The rest you’ll find out the old way.
We’re Dash and Krystal: married 7 years with 3 kids. We're members of Mercy Hill Church in Memphis, TN. We're originally from San Francisco. Singles kept asking us to set them up so we started DTR.
Every app has a “Christian” filter. None of them can tell you what it means. The apps were built to keep you looking, and they’re very good at it.
They begin by telling you that you’re remarkable and that the right person is out there, one more swipe away. The newest ones are AI bots that interview you and promise someone tailored to your answers, which assumes you know what you want, and that what you want is what you need.
We’re skeptical of all of it. Researchers who have tried to predict who will click with whom, using everything people say about themselves beforehand, have mostly come up empty. People are drawn to people who resemble them, at first. Long marriages seem to rest on something sturdier: a shared foundation, a few real virtues, and a willingness to keep showing up for someone who turns out to be different from what you pictured.
So dtr does less than you might expect. We start with the foundation that’s hardest to find on your own, a shared faith, and we let the people who know you vouch for the rest.
A married friend tells us what you’re like. Your church confirms you belong. Then we introduce you to one person a week, chosen at random from a pool where everyone was vouched for the way you were.
We choose who gets in. Chance chooses who you meet. The way it did for most couples in most of history: whoever was in the same congregation, the same class, the same part of town.
That can sound unromantic. Consider the alternative. Whether your twenty-six-year-old self chooses your spouse or a friend makes the introduction, you are marrying someone neither of you can fully see yet.
Most long marriages include an afternoon or two of wondering what your younger self was thinking. The choice matters less than what you do with it, year after year. Attraction still counts. That’s what the first coffee is for.
The rest you’ll find out the old way.
We’re Dash and Krystal: married 7 years with 3 kids, and members of Mercy Hill Church in Memphis. We're originally from San Francisco. Singles kept asking us to set them up so we started DTR.