Not long ago, I made some self-deprecating joke about still being single at 28. I try not to do this often, as it sounds silly and desperate, but I also figure that if I can't get a few jokes out of being lonely and miserable, what's it good for? (See what I did there?)
The friends I was talking to were quick to give me the cliche (but all too true) responses-- "You have no idea how good you have it being single!" "Seriously, being married isn't everything." "You're still so young, you have plenty of time."
Then one said something that literally stayed with me for over a month.
"For real though, don't rush. I was 29 when I met
Justin. If I knew he was on the opposite side of my 40th birthday I
would wait for him again."
I mean, other than being a beautiful sentiment, there was something about it that just lingered. It randomly popped into my head at the most obnoxious times, like when I wanted to wallow in self-pity. And then, a few days ago, I got it.
If I were told right now when I would meet my husband, what would it change? Whether I had 6 months, 6 years, or 26 years, how would that change how I lived my life?
For me, it would change a lot. No matter what the time frame was. It would mean doing the things I can only do while I'm single. It would mean learning things now that would make me a better wife. It would mean doing everything I could to come into my marriage with no baggage that would hold me back from my husband. It would mean learning to cook a perfect roast chicken. It would mean being able to resist the temptation to give in to men that I know are not my husband, and to not wallow in self-pity (as much as I enjoy it) when I'm not on a date on a Friday night.
Because I would know what was waiting for me. I would know that God had a perfect plan, and a perfect (for me) person.
And then, of course, I realized.....
there's absolutely no reason for me to not be doing all of those things now.
Other than not knowing the time frame, I feel confident (at this point) that God has marriage in mind for me. So whether it's a year or a decade down the road, I can rest in that confidence. And I can learn to make a perfect roast chicken. I'll have to freeze some of it, because there's no way I can eat it all myself, but I can. I can rid myself of baggage and protect myself from gathering more.
So, I'm buying a chicken tomorrow. If you want to come help me eat it, let me know. I like the white meat, so the legs are yours.
