I confess I gave up on you a while ago. I want to start by saying sorry. The truth is, up until 5 minutes ago my mom has prayed for you far more than I have. She’s the one who taught me about being hopefully expectant. About being thankful in advance. And she’s probably the only reason I didn’t doubt this thing right into the dirt.
Classic superhero mom move.
Anyway, I’m sorry. This whole time I could have been talking to Jesus about you, but instead decided it was easier to be skeptical than faithful and effectively dropped you from the conversation.
Husband who? We can talk about that some other time. That’s not a thing.
But Jesus likes to laugh and nudge me onward when I suggest I’m done with these growing pains. So here I am.
Let’s call this my official and semi-public pledge to be done with cynicism as it pertains to you. No more “gross” or “ba-humbug” or humming “another one bites the dust” when I see engagement rings popping up on my Instagram feed left and right. No more throwing up in my mouth when I think of dating.
No more acting like I’m going to be more excited about the premier of Star Wars VIII than my own wedding. (We’ll call it a tie.)
No more lying to myself.
The reality is you, sir, are ridiculously close to my heart. And it’s hard to surrender the things we want most. Lately I’m learning what it looks like to really say yes to Jesus and how that quite literally means handing over everything. Including you.
I’m also learning surrender isn’t merely adopting an “out of sight, out of mind” mentality. That’s what I tried (and failed) to do with you for the longest time but I think that only made more room for the doubt. No, I think surrender involves more action. More facing things head-on.
And Jesus likes to make that easy.
Because He has been radically rearranging my heart, I’ve noticed some cool things. The bitterness is gone and the cynicism is making its way to the door. And—get this—I even thanked God in advance the other day for the incredible man you are going to be in my life.
If I were feeling wild, I’d say that sounds an awful lot like the hopeful expectancy my mom has been preaching about all these years.
What are you up to, Jesus? Oh, a full on heart transplant? Word.
So that being said, I’d like to shoot you a fresh “Hello” and say a few things:
- I love that you’re going to be a total surprise. At this point, you’re a foggy figure with a question mark for a head and I think that’s pretty cool.
- I’m excited to learn your story.
- Another confession: At one point, I thought this whole thing was taking “for-e-ver” because you (whoever you are) weren’t ready yet. Fear not—I have been royally humbled. Turns out I was the one in need of serious priming.
- That being said, take your time. Really. I’m enjoying this season. I’m learning to appreciate the unique space I’m in not having to answer to anybody or make anybody dinner or resent anybody else’s giant laundry mountain. I’ve been told, “Live fully single & do it well.” I put that nugget on a sticky note and slapped that sucker on my wall.
- I can’t promise you children, but I can promise you love. And super cool dance moves. And terrible morning breath.
- If (while dating) you ever feel like I “need” you or have started putting you above Jesus, dump me. I mean it. Drop me like I’m hot. You should never be my end goal or my savior. You weren’t created for that and neither was I and that’s not what this thing is. I don’t want that and I imagine you don’t either.
- Word on the street is marriage teaches you a lot about God’s love for us in a whole new, crazy way. Tell me that’s not rad. Do it.
- Though I’m content in my singleness, I so look forward to the day I get to say “nice to meet you.”
But until then, I’m out. And I’m praying for you now. So there’s that.
Stay fly, sugar pie.