There Must be More. . .

PC: Brian Masbaugh (slacklinemedia.com)

I want the world to be different. . .

I want to respond in kindness every time. To have enough of God's love in me to always be ready to give to others. I want fear to evaporate. For old-fashioned values to be held by everyone. And I want to not get hung on one side of a dichotomy or the other. I want to see this life and this world bigger. To see possibilities. To know how to walk the balance of hope in the face of despair, or that of love in the proper tension of the truth.

My sister told me recently that I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too—like keeping a beautifully arranged dinner and yet cleaning the plate in enjoying all of its flavours. I do. I want it to be true that Good wins in my lifetime. I want the shadow to be small and passing, and for it to pass away right now. For the high Beauty to swoop in and save the day—and the nighttime, too. I long to live in the not yet, because the now is so broken. I long for perfect relationships without underlying currents of tension, annoyance, hurt, or frustration. I long for the fully redeemed Heaven and Earth, and confess that I kick against the breakage in which we still live.

I have been given hope and permission to dream more richly, to see God as bigger than the false dichotomies we are so often handed. . . And then comes the thud—the fact that not everyone else has been handed that gift, or that they have not received it yet, anyway. When I ask for answers and have the problem reiterated, it doesn't help. When I say, "There has to be more than just this—God is bigger than these two bad choices," I get blank silence.

When I've been told that God is bigger than my small vision, but I'm not expected—or even allowed—to see more, I get frustrated. I feel like I'm constantly on the outside and the majority is convinced that there is only one key to get in. But I am not convinced. I don't believe that my life is on hold until I get married or move or have a different job. Yet so many others believe those very things that I begin to live like I believe it, too. But I don't. I don't believe that a circumstance change is what will let me in. 

When it comes to relationships with fellow humans, surely I don't have to be relegated to being friends with only women—and mainly single ones at that. God made us whole humans. He made us to need others—male and female, single and married—in whatever state we are. What I don't know is how to practise the truth that God's vision, His world, His Kingdom is here and now. 

How do I maintain healthy relationships with my long-distance married friends? How do I have rich and healthy friendships with the men in my life? How do I love my single friends well? What is the best way to connect with my local married friends? Confessedly, I'm tired of getting shut out of various friendships because I'm not married. What changed with that ring? Don't we still have some of the same loves in common? Can't we still encourage one another in our most holy faith? Does my friend having a husband suddenly make all of that disappear? If so, it's no wonder that I've looked on marriage with a dubious eye in years past.

If what I've been told is true—that I belong to the Body of Christ, throughout time and space—then why don't I feel like I belong once my friends get married? Why do I feel like I'm a second class human as a single person? My admission ticket to the Body of Christ is not a gold band. It is being sacramentally connected to Jesus, the Head. It is receiving the very same Body and Blood that every other Christ-follower receives. 

I don't have to only have friends like me—that would keep my vision and theirs too narrow. I need people of various ages in different stages of life: single, married, with children, with grandchildren, in various vocations and with a variety of interests and talents. I need people who have different perspectives to help me enlarge my view of God and His world—of His universe. And I need to help enlarge the vision of others. . . Like those who see that there is a problem and think there are only two ways to deal with it. But God doesn't call us to impale ourselves on one stake or the other of these dichotomies. He calls us to the much harder task of another way, of balance and counterbalance—of a slackline walk. And that over a canyon. The stakes are high if we fall, but the stakes are sharp and deathly wounding if we jump to one side or the other, too. We must constantly keep our eyes fixed on Jesus to keep our balance on the slackline. To look to the right or to the left is to lose the view of our Anchoring Point—the Fixed Point in a world of turning. To look to one side or the other is to fall.

I don't want to pendulum swing, I want to walk the straight and narrow. I don't need people to paint the problem, I need help to find the answers. I don't want to see the world as small—it is not. I want eyes, heart, and mind to see how long and how wide and how high is the love and the glory of God. I want the now to step into the not yet. For time and eternity to meet. For chronos to cross into kairos. For all manner of things to be made well. For the shadow to pass and for the stars to shine through to us, to draw us near to them and yet to leave us alive. . . so much more alive than we've ever been before. The glory of God is writ large, but we need His perspective to be able to see it whole, not in pieces. We need to set our eyes on Jesus—the Author and Finisher of our faith—to keep us balanced on the slackline, rather than teetering over the brink, swaying left or right. 

The world is bigger than we've been led to believe. There are more than two options for how life can work. We know about what is past. We live in the now. . . and we long for the not yet to arrive and make all things new. We long for redemption to be fulfilled. We've been told the world is different than we've believed for so long. . . Now we get to learn to live that difference, to dream bigger, to see more than we could before—to not get stuck on the outside, but to finally get in.

One...One Flesh...One Body

Somehow, upon turning thirty-one, I became more interested in blog posts about relationships, health, and inspiring fictional characters. I started thinking more about my retirement plan and drinking Jasmine green tea. I’m still sane, I promise. My proof? I have not stooped to getting into yoga (probably because I’m not flexible—among other reasons). Nor have I taken to drinking copious amounts of pour-over coffee…or any other kind of coffee, for that matter. I save so much money this way—we’ll say nothing of the amount of tea and chocolate I buy instead.

My friends and family might question my sanity, though, if they knew how many relationship articles I read regularly. Some are essays on the needs of introverts or how to maintain healthy work relationships. Others are about the benefits of solitude or how to nurture friendships as our lives shift with work, raising families, etc.

However, the relationship articles I read most often are about healthy dating and marriage practises. While I can sometimes spot things that I know are unhealthy in marriages, I now know the four things that strangle and kill those relationships. I am often reminded to be both kind and honest in my relationships. This usually comes out in other people’s stories about how they learned to get along with in-laws, how to treat someone on a first date, and how they continue to learn to love and forgive.

I have gained insight about dating and marriage from these blogs, as well as from many dear friends. It has been reaffirming to hear why marriage is good from various friends. Amidst all of my learning, growing, and deepened understanding, however, I find that I am content in my singleness.

Ergo, I want to write a bit about being single-hearted. By that I don’t mean hating-singleness-but-pretending-to-like-it. Nor do I mean giving up dating in hopes of having your spouse finally ‘granted’ to you. Nor do I mean resigning yourself to being single if no one has asked you out in a while (or ever).

What I mean by single-hearted or single-at-heart, is that some people thrive in singleness—to the point that they tend to become less themselves when they date.* There are, in fact, sane people who enjoy doing things by themselves or coming home to an ’empty’ house (which I would call a quiet house). Being single-at-heart means—in part—that you feel fulfilled and delighted in your singleness. Being single does not mean being lonely. In fact, people who flourish in their singleness have many deep relationships, investing their heart and soul into others.

Allow me to add a caveat here: I enjoy a good wedding. I’ve been to dozens, and have been in several. I am beyond excited to be in my best friend’s wedding this autumn. I already have my outfit selected and I can’t wait to toast, to dance, and to cry at how glorious it is that God made us male and female, to complement one another and show a multi-façeted picture of Jesus and the Church. But even more than a good wedding, I love a good marriage. I love watching my married friends work through differences, walk through difficulties together, raise their children, love other people well, labour together, laugh together, and host together. It is so good and right to get to share in that as their friend.

Marriage is a wonder-filled union which I take seriously; I enjoy it in all of its depth and beauty from my outside perspective. But, the idea of me being married rather frazzles than dazzles me. My left shoulder tightens at the very thought. Not because marriage is hard—all relationships take work, aren’t always pretty, fall short of our expectations at points, and inflict wounds. I’ve heard these things again and again about marriage as well. I understand that marriage takes effort and sacrifice. But so does being a daughter. And a sister. A close friend. A co-worker…an employee. I set aside time every week to talk with my best friend, my sister, and at least one of my parents. I pray for them, think of them often, and talk about them to anyone who will listen. I seek their wisdom, counsel, and cheer. We cry together. Get angry together—and sometimes we get angry at one another. We share memories, inside jokes, many laughs, and hugs upon hugs.

Being single is a glory that many seem to overlook. I suppose it is lifelong-companion people who don’t comprehend the joy in singleness. A married friend was recently teasing me, saying I was obviously single by choice, chasing men away with a stick (she was being kind in her way). Her lifelong-companion mindset popped up at once in her next comment: “One day you will find the right man whom you won’t want to beat off with a stick.” I just smiled and said my stick was was pretty stout, choosing to laugh and not be disheartened that she had glossed over the truth: I am single by choice. Not because I think I’m something awesome that no one deserves—that would be insane beyond yoga and me drinking pour-over coffee, not to mention arrogant beyond comparison—but because I thrive in being single. I am content in my calling. Yes, I strive with not allowing contentment to become complacency, but every person wrestles with that balance in some area.

Single-at-heart does not mean that I fear or hate the opposite sex. I like men, I like them a lot! I am good friends with several fellows, I have dated some excellent men, and I am often around men of high-caliber at work. I am satisfied to enjoy friendship with these men. Yet, I have discovered something—when I am in a quandary (does he like me? do I like him? what is going on here?) or when I am unsure about whether I should be dating, I become me-focussed a hundred times more than normal. I wear stress like it’s part of my body, and I ask my neighbour to crack my back at least once a week. I become critical and over-assess everything about the person who shows interest in me. I feel stuck and my contentment jumps ship, leaving me at sea without a rudder. I often feel like I’m sans anchor in those seasons—but I am not. I have a soul Anchor who keeps me from drifting away or crashing on the rocks. He is the One I must fix my eyes on, not a man—or any other person.

Singleness is not a magic solution nor the secret to happiness. It is not all smooth sailing and sunny days (thankfully, because I love fog and snow…and being on land). Singleness takes effort. I have to go to work, pay my bills, take care of my car, do the grocery shopping, make my own meals, clean the house, take out the rubbish, arrange my travel plans, scout out hiking ventures, and strategise for my future—all without a spouse. There are days where I want someone to hold my hand and walk with me. I want someone right here to be vulnerable with, to laugh with, to be with. You know, someone I don’t have to call and hope they pick up. Someone who isn’t busy with their own life when I need a companion. But, just like being married does not mean that your spouse fills your every longing or meets your every need, being single does not mean that a person is always—or even mostly—lonely or helpless or unhappy.

In some ways, being single makes me over-confident, perhaps even intimidating. I don’t need a man to grill for me, my dad taught me how. I don’t need a mechanic to change my oil, Dad also taught me that skill. I don’t need a man to take out the trash, my mother raised me to do that for myself. Am I appreciative when a man does grill, work on my car, pick up my rubbish, open a door, or offer to carry a heavy box for me? You bet I am! My mum also taught me to have manners and a grateful heart.

Still, I have to take care of myself, so I do.

But really, I don’t. I think I’m autonomous, but I am not. I have a wonderful dad who gives me car advice and life advice, who shares wisdom from Scripture and wisdom from his life experience. I have a mother who taught me how to cook and read and keep things in order; how to love Scripture and make time to be in the word each day. I have friends who don’t mind telling me more about their insurance options or financial planning or how to get a license plate in this state. I have neighbours who discuss politics with me from a more thoughtful, studied, and insightful perspective than I possess.

My co-workers encourage me and pray for me when I’m having a rough day; and they are friends enough to tease me on the good days. They leave sweet notes, coffee mugs, and chocolate in my mailbox; and they dole out a lot of hugs. My roommate girls are continually having me over for dinner or joining me for tea and walks; they share their fears and joys, their sorrows and struggles; and they let me join them in celebrating new jobs, school acceptances, birthdays, surviving strokes, and all things British. There isn’t enough room here to express my gratitude and love for my sister and best friend, both of whom have walked through many joys and sorrows with me.

Singleness makes me realise more fully that I am part of the body of Christ. I am cared for, accepted, corrected, and encouraged to use my talents and skills for others. When I get snappish with my co-workers, friends, or family, I am often humbled by their response of kindness or gentle rebuke. The humility of their response leads to forgiveness and restored relationships. Being an integral member of the body means being part of something bigger than just myself and my desires. It is working together to bring glory to God.

I am in various types of relationships—like everyone else on the planet—and must learn to communicate with grace and truth, with kindness and firmness, with a willingness to seek a solution or middle ground. I don’t do this perfectly, or even well, at times, but I am learning, again and again. Part of being in the body means being invited, included—it means inviting and including. It means celebrating life stuff—big and small. It means opening your home, your tea cabinet, and your kleenex box to those in need of a cosy Hobbit hole and a listening ear.

Single-heartedness is a calling for fewer people. Not for those who thrive in companionship, who long to be married. I don’t begrudge them their longing, and I often wish I could help them find someone to thrive with (though, I think one must learn to be content with who God made them before they will be content in any kind of relationship). Single-heartedness is for those who take joy in their role as a single person within the body of Christ. It truly is a gift. Those who are single-at-heart do not try to dissuade their friends from getting married, nor do they think their married friends are somehow lesser than themselves (or somehow greater, either). Both singleness and marriage are gifts—very good ones to be used in different ways. Both gifts are for a season (hopefully a lifelong season, for my married friends). However, for single-hearted people, singleness is likely their lifelong calling. For lifelong-companion people, that idea is repugnant, but those who are single-at-heart are delighted by the possibility.

Whether you are single-at-heart, single-for-a-season, or married, your identity lies in being a member of the body, with Jesus as the Head. Your identity is reflected in your relationship status: a bondservant, a child of the King, the friend of Jesus, and the bride of Christ—the Church. And with our every act of love, the Kingdom of God is more fully realised.

_________

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*Others, of course, thrive in a coupled state, rather like oxen pulling together—though that imagery might not be romantic. Some folks tend to think there are only two states: married or miserable; the pair of oxen or the lonely mushroom. But that is a false dichotomy, as you will see above.

Perspectives

"Why me?" I hear her moan;

"Why this broken mess?"

"Why am I all alone—

toiling daily, while he's free?"

"Why, why, why, God?"

"Why me?"

"Why me?" I look above;

"Why do You never quit?"

"Why do You love, love,

love me? You never flee,

You take delight...Why, God?"

"Why me?"

"Why me?" I hear her cry;

"Why all of my friends?"

"Why doesn't someone try

to love me in all my debris?"

"Will no man choose me, God?"

"Why me?"

"Why me?" I look around;

"Why his lavish love?"

"It overwhelms, astounds,

builds up, inspires, sets free."

"Why" I whisper, "Why, God?"

"Why me?"

Refusing to be 'Singled' Out

How Should the Church Treat Singles?

“Another one bites the dust” is the relationship theme song I resonate with lately. I can barely go a month without one of my friends telling me they are dating or engaged. I have been in—or behind the scenes of—quite a few weddings in the last year or two. This is not the first round of this life-season for me. It happened a couple of years after high school, again after my higher education terms, and now that many friends are approaching their late twenties and thirties. There have been quite a few seasons of babies among my friends, too. It is a constant ebb and flow.

None of this is surprising—it is the rhythm of life. It feels new and exciting and surreal when it happens to you or your closest friends, but it sounds pretty normal to everyone else. What might sound abnormal to some is that I am pleased for my friends, but I don’t want to be in their shoes. Oh, I have twinges of unfulfilled hopes when I watch the father-daughter dance at weddings. I am human, I want someone to go through life with—to care about and to be vulnerable with. Sappy songs make me sad every now and then. Sometimes I feel at loose ends, like I should have someone to share something with, but they aren’t there. The longing to be loved is natural, put in our hearts by Divine Love himself.

More often than not, however, I am thankful to be single. Singleness is not synonymous with loneliness. This truth often seems to evade people—especially church people. They ask some strange questions at times, and snarky me replies in my head (well-taught-me answers with much more tact). The one I hear most often rings hollow to me, “About the time I became content with my singleness, I met my spouse.” Strange, I think to myself, I’ve been contentedly, cheerfully, single for many years and ‘Poof!’ I have no husband. Thanks for sharing without caring to enquire whether or not I enjoy being single. Every now and then someone will tell me (none-too-subtly) they would like me to meet their son, though no one has ever followed through on helping such a meeting to take place. Now, I’m not opposed to getting married, it simply isn’t my calling at this point—I am quite satisfied with all that I have and am called to right now.

Words upon words have been written about relationships—both the dating kind and all others (as if those are the only two categories there are). I have heard plenty of married people tell me they wished they had enjoyed their single years while they had them. Many a single friend has told me of their ache to be married. That pain is real, I understand. Usually, I choose not to add my voice to those conversations, as they have been had many times already by people who are wiser than I am.

Rather, I choose to opine about feeling like someone who grew a third head on the spot, or like the Invisible Man at various church gatherings. How should the church treat singles? For starters, it would help not to be pitied or unseen. Singleness isn’t a disease. It would also be great if people wouldn’t ask all those frustrating questions—”Have you tried online dating?”—as if I were dying to get married, or am unaware of how to meet people of the opposite sex. If you are so concerned, invite a few unmarried men and women over for dinner so they can spend time together comfortably. It would be a relief not to be “singled” out—either made an outcast or lumped into groups of other single people. What I am trying to say is that it would be helpful if singles were treated simply as human beings, not as ‘singles’. We are persons, not slices of Kraft cheese.

Churches that don’t have a singles’ group receive my mental applause. The ones that have small groups of mixed ages are hailed with gratitude. How will I ever learn what marriage is if I don’t see it lived out in front of me (in others besides my parents)? Peer groups often feel like the blind leading the blind. I need folks who are older and wiser than I am speaking into my life, telling me their stories, sharing their wisdom and what God is teaching them through Scripture. I have friends in their forties, fifties, and sixties with whom I love spending a long evening—to hear and to share about life and Godliness. I probably need more of these friends. These are the friends who share their homes, their meals, their thoughts on literature and society—the friends who open the Word of God to me.

We are all human beings first. Yes, we are male or female. Married or unmarried. Old or young. Gifted in this or gifted in that. Dichotomies aside, however, we are all in need of Love, of Beauty, of being made Holy as God is Holy. We all need Truth to anchor our lives. We need our family and friends. We need to give and to receive—graciously, humbly. We need stillness and the sounds of life. We need time alone and time in fellowship. We all need Jesus.

Why focus on the things that divide us? Perhaps that is the reason I don’t like being labelled “single”—or “female” or “white” or whatever other label people try to stick on each other. It is not an us-against-them sort of life. Life that truly is life is lived together—and that is much harder than separating off into our little factions or comfortable autonomy, isn’t it?

Material for Sacrifice

Here is something I gleaned yesterday from the Elisabeth Elliot book I am reading called, The Path of Loneliness.

"IS it not legitimate, then, to think of loneliness (or whatever you struggle with) as material for sacrifice? What I lay on the altar of consecration is nothing more and nothing less than what I have at this moment, whatever I find in my life now of work and prayer, joys and sufferings.

Some people see singleness as a liability, a handicap, a deprivation, even a curse. Others see it as a huge asset, a license to be a "swinger", an opportunity to do what feels good. I see it as a gift. To make that gift an offering may be the most costly thing one can do, for it means the laying down of a cherished dream of what one wanted to be, and the acceptance of what one did not want to be. 'How changed my ambitions!' the apostle Paul may have thought, for he wrote, 'Now I long to know Christ.' "

~ Elisabeth Elliot (emphasis mine)

One further sentence in the book that snagged my attention was, "What we don't have now, we don't need now." This was written about someone not being able to make friends after a move... But I think it can apply to anything, and its converse may be just as true, "What we do have now is what we need to learn to be satisfied with." Not satisfied with forever, but until the LORD changes our vocation, places us in the community that we need, or blesses us with a spouse, etc. But what we don't have now, we don't need. We can live here and now as whole human beings.

~ Johanna