hope deferred

One by one, I’ve been flinging open the doors to all the hidden closets in my heart, inviting the Spirit to blow through with His cleansing, invigorating breath. All the doors, that is, except this one. This one has remained tightly latched, painstakingly guarded, deliberately ignored. Until now.

I wasn’t ready yet to write on this topic in my 20s, or even in my 30s. I’ve had to endure the long wait, to experience both love and loss, to learn to find hope on the other side of heartbreak. And now — now that I’ve spent time in all these excruciating, unsought valleys — I find myself in a new place. A new altar, awaiting one more act of surrender.

This isn’t a story I am particularly comfortable telling — or living, for that matter — but I’ve felt a strong nudge lately that it needs to be told. 

I first felt it way back in college, while listening to the introduction for a particular chapel speaker. The details of her message and ministry are hazy now; the memory of my strong reaction toward her remains vivid.

I felt it a couple weeks back, when I went in for a routine eye exam. The receptionist rattled off her litany of questions to update my medical history, and I caught myself once ducking my head and muttering an answer.

I felt it again a few days ago: my first day of school for the year, my fifth “first day” as an elementary school teacher. A friend teasingly asked why I hadn’t posted a picture of myself online to mark the occasion, as so many parents do of their children’s first days back, and plenty of teachers do, just for fun.

The quick sting of shame that rose in response was completely out of proportion to each of these seemingly mild situations. It was enough to alert me that this was an area the Lord and I needed to deal with. Surely a single word could not hold that much power over me … unless it was that word:

Single.

I didn’t share a picture of myself standing outside my front door on the first day of school because there was no one around to take it.

The question that so flustered me at the optometrist’s office? Marital status.

And the strong, passionate woman who took the chapel stage all those years ago? Despite everything I admired about her, the way she was living out Kingdom dreams that so resonated with me, I was determined I would not be like her. I would not be an unmarried, middle-aged woman, speaking powerfully to younger women about finding joy and purpose in unexpected places. That would not be my platform; that would not be my life.

once upon a time

Some little girls dream of getting married. I count several (all grown up now, of course!) among my friends; Hollywood tells stories of plenty more. They go through life with their highest aspirations for home, husband, family. I am not faulting them — it’s a beautiful, worthy dream — but I was never really like that. Sure, I had my share of crushes on boys. Like other little girls on the playground, I counted on chants like “boy, girl, twins, triplets” to predict my future with every twirl of the jumprope. Still, there were lots of things I wanted to do and be when I grew up. Marriage and family seemed a natural and obvious part of that — no more, no less.

It wasn’t until I was quite a bit older that some rather pointed questions began vying for prominence. Could I pursue both a career and a family? Devote time to writing, for example, without neglecting domestic responsibilities? How would a husband handle a wife who was called to be in ministry? I wouldn’t want to marry someone weak-willed and easily led, but neither would I want a man who would feel threatened by my calling.

As I wrestled through these issues on my own, my friends began to pair up, marry, and start new families. I cheerfully — if somewhat wistfully — bought wedding gifts, hosted bridal and baby showers, and helped out behind the scenes. I agonized to the Lord over my growing desire to live out this blessing in my own life; surely it would come in time.

But as the years went by, and my friends’ families continued to expand, I couldn’t help but remember that chapel speaker. Despite all my anxious hopes to the contrary, I had come uncomfortably close to walking in her footsteps, along the one road I had least desired to take. Except for the fact that she seemed so content, so at peace with her reality … and I was most definitely not. 

an elusive peace

I have tried to be content, truly I have. I have decided, again and again, that I do not want to be one of those mopey, whiny single women who sit at home eating pints of ice cream and obsessing about online dating fails. (It’s an unfortunate stereotype — none of the single women I know fit into that category, and I know quite a few!) I’ve made myself a slew of promises … with mixed results: I will live the life I have been given to the fullest; I will choose gratitude and trust God with the unseen; I will allow the Lord to shape me however He chooses, and if that means it’s just the two of us walking on into eternity, well then, so be it!

I have resisted, and I have known peace; I have celebrated freedom and opportunities; I have cried myself to sleep.

The one thing I have not really done is write about it. Sure, I’ve touched on it, hinted at it. But I haven’t pursued it. Have not brought it out in the open, invited conversation, explored the ins and outs, ups and downs with transparent vulnerability. I’ve allowed the Lord to sift through so many of my struggles on the page, but this one? This one, I’ve kept off-limits.

What is it about telling God no that causes us to unwittingly expose the areas most needing His attention? Not that He was unaware of them before, but suddenly we have our eyes opened … and we typically find ourselves backpedaling and creating distractions in a feeble attempt to throw the Hound of Heaven off our scent. At least, that’s how I responded. And God was not impressed.

How I would love the opportunity to revisit that morning in chapel! If I had known my Lord better, if I had trusted Him more, I believe my response could have been quite different. I could have rejoiced with that joyous Kingdom servant, could have celebrated with her the victories that led her to that point, and blessed the countless lives who had come to see Jesus more clearly through her vibrant testimony. I could have honestly acknowledged to the Lord that, though I hoped to see my life playing out very differently, there was obviously great value on this road. If that was the one He wanted to lead me down, I would willingly follow.

I was not at that place so early in my journey. I cannot confidently say I have reached it even now … but I may be getting closer. I am far from being an expert in living the single life well, but I believe I’ve learned a thing or two along the way that might just help others like me feel less alone. At the very least, I’m willing now to open the conversation. There are hard questions to be boldly faced, pain and blessing to be acknowledged, a greater reality of peace and fullness to be sought.

I’m not sure yet where this will go, but I see the Lord in front of me, His hand outstretched in invitation. I believe I’m finally ready to take His hand and step forward, trusting that He has good things waiting in unexplored places.

Will you join me?