Last year, I struggled so desperately with my singleness. I felt lonely so much of my time and wondered why God hasn't seen it in his plan for me yet--the dream of marriage and children of my own. Still something that pulls at my heart...a longing deep, yet quieted by the years of waiting.
This year, I haven't felt it quite as keenly. There have been moments...sure.
When my little sister got engaged.
When one of my besties began planning her wedding (which is this weekend...so sad to not be there to be a part).
When my friend's little ones snuggled up in my arms.
But, for some reason, it isn't quite so overwhelming.
Today, it came with a rush of anxiety. Not a longing for marriage or family, but a frustration at the process.
This culture considers me strange. As if I am not strange enough already...a white woman living in Africa. I am stared at wherever I go. Remarks are made. Obruni or brofono or all the other names that mean "white man" are shouted at me by children and adults alike.
No, it's not just my skin color that makes me strange.
I am an old maid.
It's just not done here.
People are considered old if they marry after 25.
They discuss it with regret in their voice. "If only I had married earlier..."
Certainly, my entire life is not as I had it planned out at the tender age of 8. Every girl's fairytales center around the prince that sweeps them off their feet and whisks her to his castle in the clouds.
My castle is my quiet room, with the sound of children playing outside my window. My castle is our school where I lead our 180 students and 16 staff each and every day. My Prince is the Prince of Peace that fills me up and allows me to be poured out on these...my children...my family.
But, it sometimes doesn't make sense. Definitely not to people in this culture. And sometimes not even to me.
A weird conversation with a local friend came up today, as if he had taken it upon himself to find me a husband. Because it isn't good to be single.
As the anxiety rose from the strange uncomfortableness of the whole conversation--I felt the Peace that passes all understanding.
While I may not make sense to this culture--while sometimes, I may not make sense to even me--I am ok with that.
Jesus certainly didn't make sense to his culture. His own hometown cast him out.
So, while I may be frustrated at times in the waiting...I am also confident that who I am is not defined by whether I am married or not...how old I am...how many children I have...
I am satisfied with who I am in Christ. That is all I need. And that is not just good...it is great.
This year, I haven't felt it quite as keenly. There have been moments...sure.
When my little sister got engaged.
When one of my besties began planning her wedding (which is this weekend...so sad to not be there to be a part).
When my friend's little ones snuggled up in my arms.
But, for some reason, it isn't quite so overwhelming.
Today, it came with a rush of anxiety. Not a longing for marriage or family, but a frustration at the process.
This culture considers me strange. As if I am not strange enough already...a white woman living in Africa. I am stared at wherever I go. Remarks are made. Obruni or brofono or all the other names that mean "white man" are shouted at me by children and adults alike.
No, it's not just my skin color that makes me strange.
I am an old maid.
It's just not done here.
People are considered old if they marry after 25.
They discuss it with regret in their voice. "If only I had married earlier..."
Certainly, my entire life is not as I had it planned out at the tender age of 8. Every girl's fairytales center around the prince that sweeps them off their feet and whisks her to his castle in the clouds.
My castle is my quiet room, with the sound of children playing outside my window. My castle is our school where I lead our 180 students and 16 staff each and every day. My Prince is the Prince of Peace that fills me up and allows me to be poured out on these...my children...my family.
But, it sometimes doesn't make sense. Definitely not to people in this culture. And sometimes not even to me.
A weird conversation with a local friend came up today, as if he had taken it upon himself to find me a husband. Because it isn't good to be single.
As the anxiety rose from the strange uncomfortableness of the whole conversation--I felt the Peace that passes all understanding.
While I may not make sense to this culture--while sometimes, I may not make sense to even me--I am ok with that.
Jesus certainly didn't make sense to his culture. His own hometown cast him out.
So, while I may be frustrated at times in the waiting...I am also confident that who I am is not defined by whether I am married or not...how old I am...how many children I have...
I am satisfied with who I am in Christ. That is all I need. And that is not just good...it is great.
Oh Buzz, I have felt that same overwhelming ache more times than I can count, and I have felt the overwhelming presence of God, too. It's so hard and seems so unfair, but we just keep holding onto His faithfulness. In His time, and in His way, He'll provide. And if He doesn't, He's still good. Love you, Lady. I'm so proud of you.
ReplyDeleteOld Maidenly Yours,
Jess