Single

You know, I think it takes a strong person to handle the title “single.”

Someone who can handle the pressures of the nagging question, “So, are you seeing anyone yet?” Or the constant reminders of relationships, when you see guys and girls walking hand-in-hand or going out to eat.  Or the instant newsfeed of the social media, relaying information of your “ex” consistently mentioning that new young lady.

It’s tiring. It’s overwhelming at times. It’s heartbreaking. It’s something that you don’t take lightly. But it’s also building you into a better you. You could wallow, or you go and pick up those pieces, you wipe those tears, and you move on. Maybe not as fiercely as you’d hoped, maybe not as fast as you hoped, but man do you move on. 

And that’s when the emergence of strength, confidence, boldness comes to the surface. Sure, you have those qualities in a relationship, but in singleness — it’s different. It’s a sense of power that you feel deep inside of you. It’s like opening the curtains on a bright, sun-filled morning — a sense of refreshment.

You don’t need that other person to “survive.”

You rely on Christ, you rely on your family and friends. You don’t have to take the next month or so on, alone. You take it on day by day, little by little and you learn to embrace the title of “single.” And next time you get that nagging question, you politely and confidently respond, “No, I’m perfectly content where I am.” — and the best part is you mean it. 

And then I remember why it will always be no with you and I

I went on a date last night and then you texted and asked, again, whether I would come there. Start our days with coffee, end with you making dinner. Forever. I feel myself tug towards yes and then I remember why it will always be no with you and I.

There are people in your life who are going to love you for all of the wrong reasons. They will love you for the best part of your face, the best part of you naked, the best mood on your best day, the best story you ever wrote, the best outfit you ever wore.

They are going to miss the scar on the underside of your nose from the time your older brothers dared you to run across a pile of logs. They won’t know that you fell on a hidden nail just as you completed the challenge. They’ll miss the scar on your finger, too from the time you were seven and closed a swiss army knife on it. They won’t understand that these are two of only a handful of things you can remember about your childhood. They’ll notice that you have great tits, but they’ll miss that your thumb tucks into their palm when you’re walking together and that your eyes have darker circles when a migraine is coming. They won’t know you get migraines. They won’t ask where the story you wrote came from, so they’ll never know that it was true. They’ll love it because it feels real to them. They’ll miss knowing the sweatshirt full of holes that they criticized you for wearing was your dads. You might tell them some of these things along the way, but they will remember the best things instead.

They will love your good moods, your energy, your sense of humor, but miss that you never turn to them, but rather to a shower or a pillow or the back of your throat to shed tears. They won’t ever consider you strong.

When the parts that aren’t your best come out, some people will shield their eyes as if you have just forced them to look directly into the sun for hours until their irises burn. They’ll silently make you promise to never show them that again. Those things are not to be shown. Be at your best so I can love you. I would love you more if only you never show me those things.

And you do not marry those people. You do not sit and sleepily drink coffee with those people. You leave those people and you remind yourself that they missed the better parts of you.

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Eleven Years Later

Ten Eleven Years Later: A Tribute 9/11
My favorite 9/11 tribute in New York City can be found in Bryant Park. 2,819 empty chairs are set up on the lawn facing the site where the World Trade Center once stood, one chair for every life lost. The number of empty chairs captures the enormity of the lives lost and the stark emptiness of it just drives home the point that I hope is never forgotten. 2,819 people were here one moment and gone the next. 2,819 went to work or boarded a plane one morning ten eleven years ago thinking it would be another ordinary day and they never came home.

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2 Corinthians 12:8-10

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Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.


Realizing how relevant this passage has been to me the past few months. So thankful for the Father to provide strength, courage, wisdom. He was remolding me, creating a better me. He was the Solid Rock, and still is forever and ever. So thankful that I didn’t abandon Him, which could have looked liked the easier route. Thankful for His loving hand, to lend the way.