divine discontent

"Being single is a gift from God." 

Oh, this phrase pissed me off whenever I heard it. 

If this is true (a point I won't entirely concede): as a college student and then as a young adult, I reacted to this axiom as a young kid might react to receiving clothes as a birthday present: technically useful, and yes, technically a gift.

But let's be honest: Not all "gifts" elicit the same joyful gratitude, for good reason. 

When and where this gift of singleness can become tiresome:

-When the slow songs start at the formals, the dances, the weddings. That's when some of you head for the bathroom (or outside, or to the bar, or anywhere else but on the dance floor).

-Walking on campus or down a sidewalk ... seeing couples walking together, holding hands, or happily chatting with one another.

-Nights and weekends. Somehow, any loneliness experienced during these times distinctly agitated my heart and inner monologue.

-Holidays. Especially holidays that involve seeing family and loved ones. Arbor Day is probably OK though (unless you're crushing on a horticulturist).

-National Boyfriend/Girlfriend Day on social media.

-Third-wheeling it with the friend who seems to always be dating someone, or is in a situationship that's looking solid.

-Engagement parties for friends.

-Valentine's Day. Enough said.

-Hearing about someone's situationship, and wondering when (or if) someone will ask you out. 

To be fair, I did not acutely feel this ache of singleness all the time, every day.

Some weeks and months felt easier.

Other weeks and months felt harder.

Different people will offer different perspectives on this, many no doubt wiser than mine. So please take my words alongside those of others in your life whom you trust.

As a young person who didn't always enjoy being single, what did it often feel like?

It felt like I had more capability as a person than I could show. Wanting an opportunity. It was as though I knew I could run faster than what my shoes could sustain, if only given a chance. A divine discontent stuck with me -- sometimes quieter, sometimes louder.

I say 'divine' discontent because it felt like my discontent was part of how God created me. I wanted what I felt built to do -- to love someone with my whole heart.

To be all in.

To be known fully and fully loved, anyway. 

To have inside jokes and quirky backstories.

To be my actual weird self, and have someone say 'Yep -- that's what I'm looking for.'

Waiting, praying, and hoping for that slowly got easier (emphasis on s l o w l y). 

 

In the meantime, my unofficial mindset became: "I might as well keep busy, have fun, learn new stuff, stay grounded in my faith, and do meaningful work while I hope and pray for this."

 

If I met my future wife along the way? Splendid. If I met a bunch of cool people who brought much joy to my life by their presence and antics? Also splendid.

Being single included bountiful amounts of joy. Friends, trips, experiences, concerts, relationships, learning, laughing. My joy co-existed alongside this divine discontent of wanting. The waiting commingled hope and exasperation to varying degrees -- wondering when, how, and who.

Life was good, and I hoped for more. Both of these facts stayed true.

Is it possible to be single & happy? 

 

Absolutely! Our lives teem with examples around us every day that shout this truth.

 

The happiness will surge, and will fall back, like the tide. So take wholesome advantage of when you can contentedly build a sandcastle or dig for seashells. Eventually, the tide will surge again, and wash it out.

 

 

It can stink to watch the tide take away your sandcastle. There's no getting around that. 

 

And yet ... there'll be more chances to build new castles, find new seashells, and to see another shoreline sunset and sunrise.

 

 

 

Useful Reading:

Boundaries in Dating by Cloud & Townsend (Link here)

Tom Petty knowledge

Waiting. It often is not easy.

Waiting for the phone alarm to go off -- 

waiting for this boredom to go away -- 

waiting for the money to hit the account

Waiting, on the water in the shower to get warm

Waiting for this cringe self-talk to shut up -- 

waiting for the coffee order -- 

waiting for the meds in the mail

Waiting, for a scattershot heart to finally settle down

Waiting for that app notification -- 

waiting for that friend to figure it out -- 

waiting until my coffee cools before trying a sip

Waiting, on a sunny day

Waiting for the forward pass -- 

waiting to burp until she's walked away -- 

waiting for life to start

Waiting, for life to slow down

Waiting to feel more grown up -- 

waiting for this coffee to kick in -- 

waiting until lunch to eat

Waiting, counting down the weeks and days

Waiting to feel not so lost -- 

waiting on that new album to drop -- 

waiting to hear his laugh again

Waiting, for the pitch

Waiting for the test results -- 

waiting to say the words you've longed to say -- 

waiting for summer

Waiting, with imperfect patience

Waiting to snack because we just ate lunch -- 

waiting for the sunscreen to soak in -- 

waiting to find the perfect meme before replying

Waiting, until the time is finally here

Waiting patiently on the Lord -- 

waiting for the coffee to wear off -- 

waiting to share some good news

Waiting, to take back control of the aux cord

Waiting for justice -- 

waiting for these clouds to move -- 

waiting to fold the laundry 

Waiting, on hope, faith, love--

We're waiting

dreams, plans, God, all y'all

Cooperating with God's plans for life can make people uneasy, for a few reasons. Well, I should speak for myself: deciding to cooperate God's plans for my life has made me uneasy (and sometimes still does).

Here's why: God's not the only one with plans. I have life plans too. We all do. We dream dreams. We harbor hopes. It challenges us to figure out how (or if) some of our hopes and dreams fit with God's plans.

I've sometimes thought that -- in order to follow God's plans for my life -- I'd have to, as a prerequisite, kiss goodbye and detonate other cherished dreams and hopes. I'd have to walk away from them, and never look back.

(walking away as dramatically as possible, of course...)

You ever feel like this?  I'm sure you do. It's wrenching to consider. 

This came to my mind while watching some rehab work on a nearby home. In the span of a few hours, workers totally ripped the front porch base away!

And yet, they only removed the porch base. The existing roof and columns remain, dangling there (it's honestly a silly sight, these spindly 2x12's supporting everything). There's a clear purpose for utilizing this makeshift support: a new porch will soon be built where the old one was. The new porch will connect, incorporate, and support the existing roof and columns.

This is comparable to our plans, and God's plans.

Don't hear what I'm not saying: following God's plans could mean letting go of some dreams, hopes and wants. That happens.

It could mean letting go of that person. Letting go of a professional status. Letting go of the name-brand coffee. Letting go of the gaming record. Letting go of a coping mechanism that's served us OK, but no longer does. Letting go of bragging rights. Letting go of a personal identity painstakingly duct-taped together. Letting go of cramped security. Letting go of that subscription. Letting go of the pride. Letting go of that crowd. Letting go of rights. Letting go of having the last word.

But God has a way, a track record, of making use and re-purposing new plans alongside (some of) what we've learned along the way of chasing our dreams, so that eventually, nothing whatsoever goes to waste. He also, in time, replaces dashed dreams with dreams better than we could have possibly imagined.

Sometimes God's plans for us means we need a stronger base foundation, so as to be ready for what the dreams may eventually require of us. So we grit it out.

Sometimes it means we're in a holding pattern, dangling by some spindly supports while we wait for that new, firmer footing. So we trust.

Sometimes we're the rickety porch, needing repair, having no choice but to trust the builder will be able to distinguish between what needs replacing, and what's worth salvaging. So we wait, and hope.

Right now, it's just boards holding up this porch roof. But when the work is done with this porch, it'll look better -- and will be stronger -- than before.

pine cones, seeds, and where we let go

When he was a kid, a buddy of mine went on a summer family vacation, driving halfway across the country. His younger brother picked up a conifer cone (fancy name for pine cone) from a roadside stop somewhere in South Dakota. When they got back home, his younger brother buried the pine cone in their yard, and eventually forgot about it.

In the springtime, a shoot of an evergreen shrub burst several feet out of the ground where his kid brother had buried that pine cone. It's not unusual, right? 

Yet the growth for sure astonished the family ... because it burst from the ground in the springtime ... nine YEARS after the family had returned from that trip.

Nine years. That's a decent stretch of time. Do you remember what you did, on this day, nine years ago? Unless you did something important, probably not. I sure don't. 

Jesus tells a story about someone who spreads seed to grow crops (Jesus later explains what the story means). I appreciate that this story incorporates growing seeds.

Growing from seed takes time. 

Growing from seed resists any allure of overnight success. 

It refuses to cooperate with our timelines; we have to work with its timelines. If you want decent crops in the fall, you gotta plant in the spring. No one plants in the late summer, to reap a harvest that fall.

But then again, there's only so much we can do. We can put the seed into the ground, but we can't force the seed to germinate. We must respect its timeline. We can't impose our own schedule onto it, of how and when we think it should grow.

Sometimes, when we try to help out others, we expect that once we provide help, we'll see some immediate changes. We become discouraged when we don't see it. Eventually, we stop checking the spot where we planted a seed.

Or, we focus that same expectation inward. We expect that once we learn of some better, more fruitful way to live life, we should be able to immediately apply it, and live differently about everything. We frustrate ourselves when we don't instantly show marvelous growth. We write ourselves off as a lost cause, or just slower than the rest.

Seeds take time. 

Repeat after me: seeds take time.

The grace-filled reality is that while you will forget about what seeds you helped plant with others, God doesn't forget. You'll forget about what was planted in your soil for good, but God will not. Growth requires seeds. Growing from seed takes time. It will not be hurried.

When you feel like you're in a hurry, or you're discouraged, remember this parable, and the time it takes to grow from seed. Ask God to help you adopt his rhythms of growth and grace.