by Hannah De Cleene | Jul 16, 2026 | Theology
As an English major, I’ve always held a deep love for stories, especially children’s literature. One classic that’s etched in my memory is Peter Pan, the boy who refused to grow up. Near the end of the tale, there is one short scene that contains my favorite dialogue in the whole book.
A Lesson from the Lost Boys
Towards the climax of the adventure, the evil Captain Hook has captured all the Lost Boys and gives them a choice: they either walk the plank or join his crew. Hook takes a special interest in John and Michael, loyal Brits and the newest boys in Pan’s group.
“Stow this gab,” roared Hook, and the spokesmen were dragged back. “You, boy,” he said, addressing John, “you look as if you had a little pluck in you. Didst never want to be a pirate, my hearty?”
Now John had sometimes experienced this hankering at maths prep, and he was struck by Hook’s picking him out.
“I once thought of calling myself Red-handed Jack,” he said diffidently.
“And a good name too. We’ll call you that here, bully, if you join.”
“What do you think, Michael?” asked John.
“What would you call me if I join?” Michael demanded.
“Blackbeard Joe.”
Michael was naturally impressed. “What do you think, John?” He wanted John to decide, and John wanted him to decide.
“Shall we still be respectful subjects of the King?” John inquired.
Through Hook’s teeth came the answer: “You would have to swear, ‘Down with the King.'”
Perhaps John had not behaved very well so far, but he shone out now.
“Then I refuse,” he cried, banging the barrel in front of Hook.
“And I refuse,” cried Michael.
The idea of becoming a pirate sounded thrilling—until the boys realized it meant turning their backs on the king. Loyalty to the crown defined what it meant to be an Englishman, and in that moment, the consequences of their choice became clear; they couldn’t embrace piracy and still claim allegiance to their king.
I never wanted to become a pirate, but I contemplated joining the dark side of misery. When I finally saw my thinking for what it was—denying God’s goodness and believing my singleness had no purpose—the choice felt black and white. Like John and Michael, I wanted to cry out, “I refuse!” I didn’t want to keep doubting my good King.
2 Timothy 1:6
The tides began to turn in my life. My circumstances hadn’t changed, but my perspective did. I began to believe that God might have good reasons for my continued singleness. This change didn’t happen overnight, but the shift yielded more hope than I could have imagined.
During the “always the bridesmaid, never a bride” phase, something unexpected happened. I had been on the fence about teaching for a while; I loved my time with my students but felt restless, longing to pursue something different. Because I cherished the relational aspect of my job, I considered grad school for biblical counseling.
That summer, due to a last-minute idea, my mom joined me for an adventurous little road trip down South to look at a master’s program. We had great conversations on the road and talked for hours about what the future could look like. Once we arrived, it took me all of ten minutes to fall in love with the campus and the program (think Southern plantation pillars and Beauty and the Beast libraries). The morning after our tour, I read 2 Timothy 1:6.
For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands,
Desiring to encourage young Timothy with these words, Paul’s phrasing seemed to jump off the page. Fan into flame—I read and reread that. God wanted to develop specific gifts and talents in me. I could intentionally save money for the next year, pack my bags, and go back to school because I was single. For the first time, I felt this giddy happiness come over me. My path didn’t have a relationship on the horizon, but that didn’t mean I was doomed to loneliness. Just like Paul talks about in Ephesians 2:10, God had specific works for me to walk in for His purpose and my good.
Gungho about this new plan, I returned ready and excited. I went back to school, but I didn’t go down South. I made a much smaller move because God brought an opportunity out of the blue that allowed me to serve in college ministry and take seminary classes simultaneously.
And I loved it. I loved seminary. I loved ministry. Godly men and women challenged me to dig deeper into God’s Word, and the writing and studying brought deep joy. I wrestled with questions like “What does it look like to be bold and submissive as a woman in the church? How do we share the Gospel with individuals from different nations? What does it even mean to live a Gospel-centered life?” Additionally, I got to spend my days with college students at coffee shops and family-style dinners, pouring into their lives, discipling them, and sharing the beauty of the Gospel. I felt alive in a whole new way.
Fighting For Gratefulness
Our trip South had one annoyance: construction. Stop. Detour. Lane Ends. Slow Down. These signs communicated caution or a change of direction, but I didn’t like slowing down, waiting at a red light for a single-lane highway, or getting stuck in traffic because four lanes merged into two.
Years ago, my pastors used a quote I never forgot: “God not only orders our steps. He orders our stops.” Those words struck me again during our road trip, bringing a nagging, joy-killing thought. What if relationships were always going to be a road closed sign for me?
In my seminary days, I ventured on dates occasionally. Some of those turned into what you might call pseudo-dating relationships—texting with a guy for a bit, chatting over lattes, but then the communication dissipated before anything serious developed. I felt disheartened but not devastated, which showed some progress from my earlier singleness days. Like Naomi, hope flickered anew.
God had patience with my disappointments, just like He did with Naomi’s bitterness, which I imagine stemmed from heartache and unresolved grief. She lost her family and wanted to live in her misery, but God worked through the stops of her life to weave a beautiful story of deliverance; God wanted to redeem her self-pitying soul.
God hadn’t abandoned her; He had far bigger plans than Naomi ever dreamed of, for Ruth went on to marry Boaz, bore a son, and carried on the family line—giving Naomi the gift of being a grandmother. A few generations later, their lineage became royalty; Ruth’s great-grandson would be none other than the shepherd boy David, the king after God’s own heart. The delays and stops didn’t signal that God stopped working; she just couldn’t discern His handiwork yet, which is exactly how I felt. Naomi lit a lamp of hope in my life that maybe God was weaving an unexpected yet meaningful story.
I don’t know if Naomi loved poetry, but if she did, I imagine she would agree with a few of the stanzas from William Cowper’s poetic hymn “God Moves in Mysterious Ways.”
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow’r.
I began to ask God to make my heart a grateful one and grow my trust in His timing, even if my single status never changed. What more could I do, precisely because I was single?
The Friendship I Like Best
In my studies of the book of Ruth over the years, I saw the bond between Ruth and Naomi, captivated by their unexpected and complex friendship. In my loneliness, I found hope in their friendship, praying I could cultivate kindred spirits in my singleness.
There's a story that stands out from the rest,
With a Hebrew family put to the test.
The unlikely friendship of Naomi and Ruth,
Bore lasting fruit through kindness and truth.
At the start, Yahweh’s promises felt gray,
Their doubt sowed disunity,
So Naomi’s family ran away
From the promise land and community.
They abandoned all they knew,
Somehow hoping to make do,
Despite their meager means.
That’s when Ruth entered the scene.
But soon heartache struck without end,
One by one, their men were no more.
Without children to depend and defend,
Naomi only saw barrenness in store.
Yet Ruth did not melt in despair.
She committed her life to Naomi’s care,
Bitterness nor silence changed her mind.
She sowed faithfulness with her time.
She walked out the door,
Almost unnoticed in the field,
Yet someone heeded the law for the poor,
Showing a kindness that harvested a great yield.
Boaz took notice of her tireless labor,
And as she gained this man’s favor
He provided for her and Naomi’s cares.
Yet they were both unaware
Their conversation would turn Naomi’s bitterness aside.
Yahweh had not forsaken her forever.
These women began to converse and confide
As God began to weave all the pieces together.
Now Naomi made a plan with determination,
“All you say I will do” Ruth replied with no hesitation.
All the details are a little hard to comprehend,
But Naomi finally honored her dear friend.
Boaz became Ruth’s cherished husband,
Carrying on the name of the deceased.
A man of character on whom she could depend,
For God’s handiwork had never ceased.
All the pieces aligned just right.
God’s redemption had never been out of sight.
His kindness to Naomi’s daughter-in-law
Left the whole town in complete awe.
Naomi helped Ruth find her new home
Where she became a wife and mother.
The family finally experienced God’s shalom.
As they constantly thought of one another.
God’s redemption can feel hidden in the clouds.
But there is purpose in what He allows,
Even in the doubts we conceive
And the trials that we grieve.
He is the Friend that stands out from all the rest.
And their friendship revealed that glory.
He is the one who loves each of us best.
That is the beauty of their story.
by Hannah De Cleene | Jul 9, 2026 | Theology
One of the blessings that followed graduation came in the form of three close friends who, like me, remained single for the next five years. We understood one another, the challenges, the disappointments, the longings. But we didn’t just bond over the hard. We roomed together and filled our evenings with late-night chats in the bathroom or kitchen regularly (I will never know why we rarely sat on our comfy couches for these conversations). We explored unfamiliar cities— even crossed the equator—side by side. On some trips, we strolled like the locals, chatting over coffee while we planned our excursions for the day. On others, we studied bus routes like treasure maps, but our destination often remained a mystery. We carpooled to weddings, arriving as a pack so none of us had to walk in solo. Afterward, we swapped stories about what we loved and quietly dreamed about our own wedding days. It’s not hard to see why I loved spending time with them. I didn’t feel so alone or have to explain myself to them; they knew the hardship I rarely had the words to articulate. They understood me, and I always breathed a deep sigh of relief anytime we hung out.
Then, one by one, things changed. Men poofed into their lives like a magician’s rabbit. At first, I loved being their wingman. I helped them pick out their first date outfits and made them promise to send me a picture so they would have photographic evidence of their first date in case it was their last first date. I calmed them down from the momentary freakouts: I can’t do this, he’s too young, too quiet, too short— all smoke screens for scared girls. In the end, everything turned out well. These guys were not immature boys but godly men I respected. Then I started to get nervous. I could see the writing on the wall.
I tried to mentally prepare myself, but before I knew it, the proposals started. I knew of the conversations with the parents, heard deliberations about what kind of rings they dreamed of, and hid in the background to witness one of these momentous occasions. But nothing truly prepared me for the proposal domino effect; they all got engaged within a few months of each other. That brought on full-blown wedding plans. I became the sounding board for all the Pinterest ideas, the fashion consultant at the dress appointments, and a bridesmaid in each of their weddings.
Unlike earlier years when friends got married, my joy for these three ran deep. My complaining, envious side did not rear its head as much this time. I had walked with them on their hard days, talked with them after the failed dates, and sat with them through their heartbreaks. I knew the road they had been on, and they no longer had to wait for their special someone. I also admired the men they were about to marry; my friends had not settled but waited for men with godly character. These men loved my friends well, and I thanked God for His answer to their prayers.
But what about my prayers? That was a question in the back of my head, one I was almost afraid to ask. In the quiet moments by myself, I felt disheartened. Then, something changed as I took a walk with my mother.
A Walk That Changed My Direction
Three weddings in six months. No matter how much I liked the soon-to-be grooms, I knew the reality. I saw my friendships progressing toward a permanent change.
My heart felt new depths of weariness—not anger or angst but pure sadness. At this time, I asked my mom if we could go for a walk. I can’t remember much of what we talked about; I didn’t have words. My life remained changeless. My friends were embarking on a new chapter while I trudged along in the same pattern. In that moment, it was as if God asked me, “What if My plan doesn’t align with yours?” My mom and I came to a crossing, and I stopped.
“Mom,” I said with a teary-eyed sigh, “ I want to be ok if God’s plan for my life is different than my friends.” Not a profound statement, but I meant every word. I didn’t want to complain anymore, and I felt hungry to stop this comparison game in my mind. I couldn’t change my circumstances, but maybe, just maybe, God could change my perspective. For the first time, I held my future with open hands to the Lord.
I felt the pruning shears once again, except this time I didn’t put up a fight. I wanted God to cut back whatever He wanted in my life, no matter how much the process hurt. I longed for a deeper hope than even meeting my spouse could offer. While seeing my friends start new lives still brought some weepy nights, little did I know God had just planted the seeds for enduring joy.
Letting Go of the Facade
Although I had been struggling with contentment for years, on the outside, I had done a pretty good job of putting on a smile for everyone. I didn’t want people to know how much I had been wrestling, nor did I want their pity. Some people’s reactions to my singleness never helped, so I found it easier not to share my struggles with them. I also had some trusted friends and family who could have helped me, but I wanted to be “strong” and show them I could handle singleness well. In so doing, I carried that mentality into my relationship with the Lord. The result? Isolation.
Looking back, I can easily point out the flaw, but at that moment, I walked in total blindness. I tried so hard to be happy or at least hold it together, but stuffing raw emotions doesn’t eradicate them; the reaction only stunts growth. Over time, as I sat with the Scriptures and followed the Spirit’s prodding, truth surfaced in full color: God longed to walk closely with me in singleness.
Psalm 18
The Psalms are a master class in prayer. The Psalmists don’t sugarcoat feelings, and they make the full weight of their struggles apparent. Psalm 18 is just one example.
I love you, O Lord, my strength.
The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
David stood as a mighty warrior. He defeated lions, wrestled bears, and brought down a giant with nothing but a sling and a stone. That’s why the word strength grabbed my attention. Throughout his life, people knew him for his power and courage. And yet, he begins this prayer by declaring that the Lord is his strength. From the outside, David embodied strength. That’s exactly what makes his confession so comforting. I doubt many in his day thought he lacked strength; his victories spoke for themselves. David saw what others missed: real strength didn’t rise from within. He fixed his eyes on the true source.
From the outside looking in, people thought I handled singleness like a champ, but inside, I felt weak and weary. As I looked at the beginning of David’s prayer, I found solace. He didn’t attempt to find strength in himself, so maybe I didn’t have to either. As the Psalmist continues, he gives us these pictures of strength – a rock, a fortress, a deliverer. In his desire for protection and support, he first gazed upward and called to mind God’s character.
How many of our prayers start like this? We often start with our requests, but David teaches us something beautiful here. He is calling to mind who his God is first.
For a long time, that wasn’t how I prayed. I felt swallowed up in my singleness. All I could see was the hurt, the disappointment, the waiting. I kept staring at what I didn’t have and begged God to bring the right man into my life. Somewhere along the way, I stopped paying attention to God. When that happened, I failed to come to Him in humble honesty. I didn’t recall the Scriptures that speak of His faithfulness and goodness. I barely thought about the verses that tell us we have no reason to fear. The more I focused on what was missing, the bigger my problems seemed. They blocked my view of God’s strength.
Throughout the rest of the psalm, David unpacks his problems; he’s being chased by his enemies. He didn’t make light of his reality or pretend he wasn’t in need. He goes to great lengths to ask God for help in his current battle against his enemies.
This theme of enemies shows up regularly in the Psalms. I have never experienced an army of men chasing me, let alone anyone trying to kill me, but I do have an Enemy.
Satan often discourages us with lies, lies that stir doubt about God’s goodness. Add in the pull of our sinful hearts, and life becomes dark in a hurry. When I am down in the dumps, I relate to David’s words in verse four when he says, “the cords of death encompassed me.” In these moments, there’s a choice: to drown in the lies or believe the truth.
Even with an Enemy working against me, I still carry the responsibility for how I respond. That’s where I struggled. I failed to name the thoughts that kept circling in my mind, and without clarity, they took root and spread. Singleness made this tricky because no one monitored my thinking. No one lived with me side by side to notice when I was going off the rails. I’d never defeat my enemies if I pretended they weren’t there.
I learned to spell out the fears and doubts in my mind, which began with admitting my sin. I had to admit to the Lord that I had been complaining about what I didn’t have. I had to confess I had done far more comparing to the lives of my friends than asking how He wanted to use my life.
That confession included a crazy list of what-ifs, legitimate reasons for fear, until I said them out loud. The realization of absurdity mimics that of the character Anxiety from Inside Out 2. Disney takes a creative lens into our emotions, making each of them their own person, interacting with other emotions all day long inside our brains. Anger, Joy, and Sadness, among others, all have important roles in our daily reactions. In this story, a young teenage girl, Riley, is adjusting to a new hockey team, and Anxiety gets into a tizzy over the “what if” projections about Riley failing socially, losing friends, and disappointing people. Anxiety’s fear builds and builds until finally she blurts out to Joy, “And then Riley will die alone!” Comically familiar, my spiral of what-ifs and imagined futures felt just as ridiculous.
The right man will never come
I will always be the good friend/sister figure
I am going to have to buy a home all by myself, which will ensure that I am going to be on my own
Because I said no to that date two years ago, with that one guy, I won’t ever get married
I will live in the shadows. No one will understand what I am going through
There’s no point to this phase of life
I could go on, but even from those few statements, it’s no wonder I had days where, like David, I felt like “death encompassed me”. I had no hopeful thoughts, no seeds of hope. Not until I asked the Lord to help me see life differently.
When I Can’t See
I was always the kid who tried hard—I worked hard at school, at friendships, at goals. But all of my “trying” didn’t seem to change the circumstances in my life, and sometimes I felt invisible to God. So I put words to this stuck feeling and tried to recall to mind the truths taught in Psalm 121,
I can’t.
I cannot see.
Am I stuck, never to be free?
What’s in front of me makes no sense.
My every step strikes an unseen fence.
Full of impossibilities,
I assume the worst is yet to be.
I tried hard to do it all right.
If I proved faithful in this fight,
My pleas would be answered just so.
Instead, I met the silent no.
Do You see my heart split in two?
You told me Your promises ring true.
But all I hear is angst in my soul.
Blinded by how life takes a toll.
I am not strong enough for this.
My days are empty of any bliss.
I am just one little being.
Who is having a hard time seeing.
As I admit my feebleness
I hear words full of such gentleness
Come to Me. I will give you rest.
Could He? Understand my great unrest?
I lift my eyes to the hills, from where does my help come?
There’s no hopeful horizon, just a zero-sum.
My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
My actions and words seem to have little worth
Yet He will not let your foot be moved, He who keeps you will not slumber
The cares of my heart are a countless number
Behold He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep
But what if my fears hinder speech and all I can do is weep?
The Lord is your keeper. The Lord is your shade on your right hand.
Even if my circumstances seem to trap me like quicksand?
The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.
His promise will be my guiding light.
The Lord will keep you from all evil. The Lord will keep your life.
Even if His plan seems to cut my expectations with a knife
The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in
He knows everywhere I have ever been.
From this time forth and forevermore.
The goodness of Himself is what He has in store.
My Maker always walks with me
Now I see.
I’m free.
by Hannah De Cleene | Jul 2, 2026 | Theology
Comparison. Comparison is the cousin of complaining, but unlike the latter, comparison is not always bad. For example, Paul told the Corinthians, “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ.” (1 Corinthians 11:1) He’s telling the people to compare their walk with Christ to his own, embodying the iron sharpening iron concept taught in Proverbs. Yet oftentimes, due to our sinful hearts, comparisons lead us astray.
Growing up, my father taught at a small Christian college, and sometimes I would sneak into his office to use his computer for homework assignments. On his monitor, he had a short little phrase printed and taped to the side of the screen. Two short words that always stuck with me:
Comparison kills.
My father rarely spoke bluntly, so this saying bothered me like a crooked painting on the wall; I didn’t understand these two words or grasp their meaning until my singleness. Thoughts of comparison, left unchecked, slowly became an addiction. She has a boyfriend, and I don’t. She is prettier and more fun than I am, so that’s why she’s taken and I am single. The thoughts looped on repeat, only perpetuating discontentment.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to believe the truth of this phrase, but I added one more word, one I think expresses the sentiment my dad constantly reminded himself of with his little scrap of paper.
Comparison kills joy.
Young Adult Life
The next few years, I struggled with joy. After graduation, I spent my summers at friends’ weddings. In the beginning, I cherished all the ceremonies and traditions: the flowers, the dresses, the vows, the cake, all of it. But as I showed up, weekend after weekend, I grew tired of the celebrations. And with each new wedding, my pool of single friends shrank.
Few wedding speeches earned a standing ovation, but each one got to me. The stories told the same tale—boy meets girl, she hesitates, he persists, the stars finally align, and everything falls into place. Sometimes this came from the best man’s speech, the father of the bride, or even the narrative seen through a montage of pictures and nostalgic tunes at the end of the ceremony. All these details told the story of how well the couple complemented each other. I could see the joy written on their faces, and to me, the most exciting chapter of their lives had just begun.
In contrast, I would slowly walk to my car and drive home from these events alone. I often spent the rest of the evening watching a rom-com or Hallmark movie, wishing for the ideal guy—one who saw and understood me. That desire stood in stark contrast to my reality. The farther removed I became from college, the fewer guy friends I had around me. As I started a teaching career in a small Christian school, I had no idea where my life was headed or where I would meet my someday husband.
I felt stuck. Clearly, my married friends had a better life (or so I thought). Why couldn’t my life mirror theirs?
Commentary That Fueled the Comparison
As mentioned previously, sometimes singleness gets a bad rap in the church. Yet even in the misunderstandings of the congregation, singles are equally responsible for their reaction to unhelpful commentary. Being asked—yet again—if I was dating someone didn’t give me the right to respond with a cold shoulder. Sadly, I must confess I let various conversations and comments stick with me more than I should have, which sowed seeds of bitterness and resentment.
People have their opinions. They just aren’t always helpful. If you have been single for any length of time, you’ve been in awkward conversations, making you wish for your own invisibility cloak.
“Do you have a special someone in your life?” or “What’s a girl like you still doing single?” When your answer is no or just a polite shrug, they either suggest they could set you up with someone, or an elderly lady says “Oh honey” in a southern kind of way, meaning, “Be patient, sweetie. I am sure he is just right around the corner!” They are trying to make you feel better and come up with ways to get you out of singleness, but there’s an embedded comparison.
Right from the start, when you state you’re single, they assume something needs to change for you to be happy. Personally, when someone gave me an immediate suggestion on whom I should date, I felt more like a project than a person, especially if these Yente-like efforts came from acquaintances rather than a kindred spirit. Then my overthinking brain would kick in. If they had someone in mind, should I be open to it? Do I always say yes to every opportunity that comes my way so I don’t miss my chance? Was it ever ok to say no to these awkward scenarios, or was that being too close-minded? And how would the gentleman in question feel if he knew he was being suggested as the ideal suitor? In my experience, most of these guys had no idea these conversations were even happening.
And if these acquaintances or even well-meaning friends didn’t have a person in mind, I would get a slew of suggestions like this:
- Have you tried online dating?
- Have you tried other churches?
- Have you considered moving to a place where there are more single men (as if they are all in hiding in my town)?
- Have you considered asking the guy out for coffee? You are more intimidating than you realize.
I learned to laugh at some of these conversations, especially the string of questions I got from the Grandmas in my church inquiring about how old I am, if I really wanted to get married, and how many kids I would like to have—you would be surprised at how much ground they can cover in the church bathroom! But some of the commentaries stung more than I wanted to admit, spurring my inner war. I found myself making comparisons to other girls or couples and thinking thoughts like these:
I am not what a guy is looking for. This is a classic for any girl. I am not pretty enough, short enough, funny enough, smart enough, athletic enough, adventurous enough…whatever the thing was, I wasn’t it. I convinced myself that the beautiful, light-hearted, life-of-the-party girls got the guys, and we book-loving, kind but sometimes quieter girls would remain in the shadows as the good friend, sister figure forever.
I am too much to handle. If you think this sounds like a contradiction to the last sentiment, you are correct. Comparisons aren’t always logical. As I started to make a life for myself, I began making bigger decisions. I took on new jobs, traveled, served in the church, and bought a house. I took steps, trying not to put my life on hold. I didn’t want to simply sit around, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for Prince Charming. But then I feared I was becoming what others mentioned—intimidating. Did I need to be less independent?
My life will never be like theirs. With no hope of change on the horizon, life felt overwhelming. Even with a good imagination, some days I couldn’t possibly see how the right man could come into my life, and I assumed that the stag life would be my forever reality. Just like when Joy from Inside Out implored Sadness to be more positive, my response paralleled Sadness’s retort. “I am positive this won’t work out.”
I missed my opportunity. This may be the most heart-wrenching and tragic line of all. The misery of memories became my companion on the dark days. I compared my life to what it could have been because I had a few stories of my own that didn’t work out: What if I had been wrong? What if I gave up when I was supposed to press in? Maybe I messed up something that could have truly been great. If I had said yes instead of no, I could be married with a kid on the way by now.
As these negative comparisons swirled in my mind, I began to relate to the words of a lesser-known Psalmist, Asaph.
Woe Is Me from Psalm 73
Asaph lived in the time of King David and served as both poet and prophet (2 Chronicles 29:30). He filled his songs with questions, truth, and praise, and none so captivated me like Psalm 73.
Truly God is good to Israel,
to those who are pure in heart.
But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled,
my steps had nearly slipped.
For I was envious of the arrogant
when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.
He admits that God is good, a truth that, no matter my stage of life, I agree with. At least verbally, but like Asaph, my feet almost slipped. What I knew about God in my head clashed with the waves of comparison pulling me under.
Asaph is comparing his life to those who do not follow God and staring at all the pleasures they enjoy. My circumstances differed. In the ugliness of my own heart, I put all my married friends into one big category, envying their good life and feeling utterly sorry for myself, the eternal loner.
Did I keep my heart pure for nothing?
Did I keep myself innocent for no reason?
I get nothing but trouble all day long;
every morning brings me pain.
This. This is where Asaph and I were kindred spirits. In all my comparisons, I wondered: Is this worth it? Is it worth it to wait for God’s timing? My singleness is just giving me frustration and heartache while everyone else is enjoying wedding bells.
As I entered my late 20s, I thought about how my big sister had birthed three kids by my age. I had friends celebrate their five-year wedding anniversaries when I hadn’t gone on a single date in years. I feared I’d become that teacher, the one who invested all her time in school and had no life outside of her career. I didn’t have the resolution of truth that Asaph did at the end of the psalm, at least not yet. I still hadn’t learned to take my complaints to the Lord.
Comparing My Life to What I Expected
My life wasn’t what I expected. While I never had a specific five or ten-year plan, I fully believed that if I followed the Lord, marriage would fall into place. I faithfully attended church, spent time in the Word, and served in various ministries. I never deviated from those things, nor did I have an outwardly rebellious phase. And yet, I lived alone. I knew plenty of girls who got married who were not following the Lord like me. I felt like all the other girls got asked out, minus me.
Not only did I channel the complaining spirit of Asaph, but I came to discover that I mimicked someone else in Scripture. Years ago, Tim Keller did an entire series on the Prodigal Sons, uncovering far greater depth than many theologians before him. He framed the story about the two sons, unlike the common view that focuses only on the younger, rebellious one.
Unlike the younger son, the older son was never outwardly rebellious.
Unlike the younger son, the older son always obeyed the rules and did what honored the father. He never gave his father cause to worry.
And yet, when his younger brother came home and the father showed him grace, the older brother could not rejoice.
Why? Why could the older brother not celebrate his little brother’s homecoming? The older one expected the material blessings of his father because of his outward compliance. He took no joy in being close to his father. So while the sons’ actions differed, their motives matched; they cared more about what the father could give than the father himself.
In my life, I wasn’t the flirt; I didn’t ask guys out, nor did I wear questionable attire to get more attention. But, as you can likely tell from the thoughts that permeated my mind, I believed I deserved better. I thought somehow I had earned God’s favor by following all the rules, and God wasn’t holding up His end of the deal. I was, as Keller states, very “elder brother-ish-tic” in my mentality.
Slowly but surely, I began to wonder if maybe my heart was two sizes too small.
Longing for Hope
My heart often felt weary in these days, and I found solace in the book of Psalms. I wrote this short poem to mimic the hope I so often read in the words of King David.
Everyone has cares in this life
Pain and worry and endless strife.
Expectations demand a fee,
Feeling the weight of what we should be,
Shame goes deeper than anyone sees.
What hope is there for my weary heart?
Will there ever be healing for these shattered parts?
Loneliness is my only friend,
Unwanted. That’s my bitter end.
Selfishness holds part of the blame,
Assuming I’m a forgotten name.
Self-pity is a tiring game.
Painted with the darkest of tones,
Brokenness seeps into my bones.
Fear fuels my desire to fight.
I bicker and declare that I’m right,
Inflicting hurt with my so-called might.
Wanting more amplifies my stress,
Depending on all I possess
Seeking comforting compliments,
But finding internal resentment.
Comparisons breed discontentment.
What hope is there for my weary heart?
Will there ever be healing for these shattered parts?
There is a home untouched by fear,
Abounding with friendship and cheer.
Our Brother paid our debts and fines
Cleansing us with His love so divine,
Inviting us to His royal line.
He kindly extends His embrace,
Beckons us to speak face-to-face,
Offers the strength to carry on,
And wipes every tear until they're gone
His friendship offers the brightest dawn.
Here is healing for the shattered parts
My soul has found refuge for my weary heart.
by Hannah De Cleene | Jun 25, 2026 | Theology
A complainer–someone who whines incessantly and carries a woe-is-me complex; it’s a description we never want to be true of ourselves, and yet when we examine our daily commentary, we may, like Job, put our hands over our mouths. It’s so hot, I can’t wait for cooler weather. The coffee tastes cheap. I don’t have anything cute to wear. My friends are always too busy for me now. The list goes on. The comments are made carelessly, yet have you ever noticed how habitual complainers tend to vacuum all joy right out of the atmosphere? Nothing is ever quite good enough. They spread their discontent like a disease, and before you know it, the whole room is crawling with Debbie-Downers.
As a child, I embodied the exact opposite disposition. My mother often called me her Happy Hannah, and I lived up to that description. I celebrated snow days, found fun in rainy afternoons, and jumped at the chance to be her sous chef in the kitchen. However, in my teen and early adult years, I hid behind my cheerfulness. If I kept that countenance, I could convince everyone, even myself, that I didn’t have a care in the world. But even with years of being Miss Sunshine on Monday mornings, I suppressed any distress with smiles. And later, as singleness became part of my reality, hope unraveled, and the unfolding circumstances revealed the true condition of my heart.
Post-College
As a college student in a small Christian school, even the sidewalks knew your name. Conversations often swirled around new couples and sudden breakups, and I contributed to these dating chronicles in my four years as an education major—not a full-length novel, but a few short stories that left me with a mix of heartache and confusion about boys.
From the first moment of freshman orientation, I pursued one aim: graduation. I packed those four years with ambitious goals and countless hours of coffee-fueled homework. But when the long-awaited day finally arrived, I stood face to face with a great unknown—my future. Beneath the pomp and circumstance of this milestone, the thought of finishing college terrified me. I hadn’t a clue as to where to begin, and I had to navigate that uncertainty alone.
Fueling my fear, many of my friends got engaged in their senior year, so I felt in the minority graduating with no job to prepare for and no wedding to plan. To make matters worse, the guys I seriously dated had moved on. They appeared to be much happier than when they dated me and were marching steadily towards wedding bells. Even though I could recognize that those men found better matches, I felt insecure about guys and relationships.
Now what?
I felt very much like Rapunzel in Tangled when she escapes her tower. This is the best day ever! I am a despicable human being. This is so fun! I am a horrible daughter. Her emotions mirrored my own pendulum swings as I spun between the extremes: Mr. Right is out there! I ruined my best shot at getting married. The best is yet to come. I will always mess up my relationships. I wanted to be a wife and a mom — that desire pleased God, right?
Frantic unknowns flooded my brain. I had no clear direction for this upcoming season. My friends and older siblings had married around my age; I didn’t know too many people who could help me in my unexpected reality. College mapped four years of my life, then left me hanging. I wanted a new map.
Why was God making me figure this out on my own? Why did I have to navigate these young adult waters without a spouse? Was I being punished for something? Why didn’t I get the chance to be a Mrs.?
The Importance of Why
All my angst was expressed in one word: why. That burning question echoes throughout the Psalms, offering a glimmer of hope. I wasn’t alone in my struggle.
Why, O Lord, do you stand far away? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?
Psalm 10:1
I say to God, my rock: “Why have you forgotten me? Why do I go mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?”
Psalm 42:9
For you are the God in whom I take refuge; why have you rejected me? Why do I go about mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?
Psalm 43:2
O Lord, why do you cast my soul away? Why do you hide your face from me?
Psalm 88:14
These pleas are just a few examples of honest prayers from struggling and suffering people, but there’s one important thread illuminated by all these questions that I had missed. I failed to take my complaints to the Lord. Like the Psalmists, I too had complaints, but ungratefulness saturated my daily speech, causing me to miss out on a closer relationship with God during times of struggle.
How can you distinguish between honest complaints and entitled grumbling?
Luke 1 offers a striking contrast. Two people receive a miraculous message from the angel Gabriel. Zechariah, in his old age, hears that his barren wife will finally bear a son—John the Baptist. Mary, a young teenage girl, discovers she will conceive and bear the Messiah while she remains a virgin. Both respond with questions, both ask how. The difference is that Zechariah questions with doubt, assuming this miracle couldn’t happen, and Mary asks with trust, wondering how the impossible will come true. One doubts. One believes.
I didn’t receive a message from an angel in my singleness, but God gave me His Word, an entire book filled to the brim with promises of hope and purpose, but I placed more value on my thoughts than God’s. What kind of comments filled my conversations? An endless list of negative thoughts. Nothing profound or earth-shattering, but simple and entitled statements that added such weight to my mind for far too long.
- Why do I have to be single?
- Life would be better with a boyfriend
- Of course, she would get to be engaged, she’s prettier and more fun than me
- I am going to have to wait forever
- People say singleness can be good, but those are all people who haven’t had to walk through it
- No one really understands what I am going through
- This will be my lot in life, the single one
- There’s no one around I want to date anyhow—this is hopeless
With thoughts like these, it’s no wonder a dark cloud hovered at my every turn.
It Was The Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times
In my post-college era, marrying young felt like the norm. I didn’t know how many others felt alone in the same scenario. More and more, singleness emerged as a regular way of life. Since the 1990s, the unmarried population has been steadily growing. An NPR article stated that “Today, more people are tying the knot in their 40s and older, and the share of people who never marry has doubled since 1960.” Contributing factors are ascribed to a heightened focus on careers, paying off debt, and buying a home. Some of the interviewees’ comments are surprising, as one lady describes how much she enjoys singleness so she can keep her bathroom clean and in order, just the way she likes it.
But what about the Church? It appears Christian culture follows the same narrative. Why? From my experience, two issues plague the Church. The first may be true of both secular and Christian societies, and the second doubles down on the struggles of the first: Option paralysis and an overemphasis on marriage.
Option Paralysis
With the rise of social media and online dating, the options to find your next match are almost endless. You can pick the height, occupation, and location of a potential suitor and swipe to your heart’s content. As my friends and I used to joke, the internet made it possible to shop for a boyfriend.
Even when someone’s profile catches your attention, the amount of options feeds into this never-ending, open-ended question: What if there’s someone better out there? You find yourself comparing pictures to see which person is more attractive. Is he pleasantly social or self-absorbed with only selfie pictures at the gym? You overanalyze the 250-word count answer to simple questions like, “What do you love to do in your free time?” Is this someone who lazily left the default answer of spending time with family and friends, a complete social misfit, or are there genuine signs of a godly person?
This mentality can decrease the level of sincerity and commitment in a possible relationship from the very start because you and your friends have become Holmes and Watson, investigating every detail to make sure no stone is unturned.
Having all these options led to some discouraging moments, an aspect of singleness that often led to despair. I cannot tell you how many times I found profiles of guys I knew, guys who lived in the same city and ran with the same crowd. I wasn’t pained that they weren’t asking me out (most of the time), but I found myself disheartened because I knew all the wonderful girls they knew, had friendships with, and weren’t pursuing. Option paralysis makes the someone right next door seem less of an option because someone somewhere in the universe could be an even better fit—making many girls feel like they’re not enough for guys. FOMO is no longer relegated to missing social activities but to a fear of missing out on the perfect companion.
This trend, however, is not a one-way boy-bashing street. Once my frustration cooled, I had to face an ugly truth. Girls did the same thing. I did the same thing. I remember one time stumbling across a mutual friend on a dating app. Completely surprised, I reacted in sheer panic with a silent scream that launched my phone across the room. Absolutely not. That would never work!
This cocktail of perfectionism, fear, and stubbornness has kept many from saying yes to a simple cup of coffee—or more often, a second date. They stay stuck, endlessly scrolling, paralyzed by too many choices and unwilling to consider the person right in front of them.
An Over-Emphasis in the Church
Another factor contributing to these fears of dating emerges in a church context. While I believe this outcome is generally unintentional, the impact remains. Many ministries and studies are created for those who are married and have families, and these are godly endeavors. But in this emphasis, marriage can come across as more valuable than singleness, making singles believe that they are living a second-rate life. Church can often be one of the loneliest places and doesn’t know what to do with this growing population. Either the people remain silent or make little comments like, “I just can’t imagine why you are still single!” and then move on. In the end, singles end up on the Island of Misfit Toys.
I love the local church and am grateful for the godly communities I’ve known. I am not saying singles need their own ministries or overzealous hand-holding to walk through this season (no one wants to be patronized or pitied). I have simply seen this over time: When one side of this scenario, marriage, is talked about as the ultimate good and the other, singleness, is met with silence, the former is given unbalanced importance. Add to this the option paralysis struggle, and immense stress is added to all dating possibilities. Will this be the right person to fit all the godly standards so we can have a godly marriage? People should absolutely have standards for the character of their future spouse, but because marriage is held in ultimate esteem, singles become terrified to go out for coffee because he or she might be the “wrong one.”
One of the most encouraging articles I read in my singleness came from Betsy Childs Howard. At the time, she was 33 and single. While that seemed like an eternity to be single for me (which ironically is how old I was when my husband came into my life), I found hope in her perspective. She voiced something I couldn’t quite articulate at the time:
Now John’s disciples and the Pharisees were fasting. And people came and said to [Jesus], “Why do John’s disciples and the disciples of the Pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast?” And Jesus said to them, “Can the wedding guests fast while the bridegroom is with them? As long as they have the bridegroom with them, they cannot fast. The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast in that day. (Mark 2:18-20)
But what if I never marry? Do I fail as a picture of the gospel? Not at all. Instead, I will live and die as a portrait of what the church is meant to be now. Jesus forewarned that there would be a time between his ascension and his return, a time of waiting on the promised bridegroom.
Marriage depicts the union of Christ and the Church. But what I had never considered before is that singleness depicts Jesus’ followers waiting for His return. Marriage and singleness are both beautiful pictures, different from one another yet equally valuable and worthy of celebration. My heart began to soften, to dare to believe that singleness could be good, and that’s when some of the stories in God’s Word started to come alive to me in a whole new way.
The Parallels of Jonah and Naomi
One of the beautiful things about Scripture is that it describes people as they are, not picture perfect, but real, full of flaws. The Bible does not hide dark realities about how Abraham lies to Pharaoh, Moses kills an Egyptian, David commits adultery, and Solomon marries many women. Most of us would prefer to align ourselves with the more admirable characters like Daniel or Hannah (I’ve always felt like I’ve had a lot to live up to with the name, Hannah Ruth), but the more I read Scripture, the more I see myself in the faults and shortcomings of the characters.
The book of Ruth has long been a favorite of mine, a love passed down to me by my father. Ruth and Boaz display Christlike characters that reflect the heart of redemption and unpack a captivating love story. And yet, as I studied these four chapters, I realized my attitude often paralleled the other main character of the book: Naomi.
Even in my early struggles of singleness, I never questioned God’s sovereignty. I fully believed He allowed my current circumstance, but His actions felt cruel, much like the way Naomi felt about her situation. Her circumstances were more dire than my own, for she had lost her husband and two sons, but I daresay our hearts had a similar posture.
Both her daughters-in-law proclaimed they would stay with her after these tragic deaths, but Naomi boldly, and somewhat brashly, refused their kindness. She told them to turn back four times, pleading with them to leave her. Later on, when the women of Bethlehem heard of Naomi’s return, she no longer wanted to be associated with who she was before.
Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt very bitterly with me. I went away full, and the LORD has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi when the LORD has testified against me and the Almighty has brought calamity upon me? (Ruth 1:20-21)
She’s saying her trouble was all God’s fault, and that is how I felt at the start of my journey with singleness. So many of my friends got married and started a wonderful new chapter in life, but me? God left me in the dust. I felt sorry for myself. I am not a direct communicator; I am terrified of bluntness, so I never articulated my sentiments as clearly as Naomi. That, however, is the sneaky thing about a complaining spirit. Whether stated in boldness or passive-aggressive pity, complaints deepen the roots of bitterness.
As if her example wasn’t enough to strike my conviction, the Spirit drew my attention to another kindred spirit of self-pity: Jonah. The Lord provides an impeccably clear mission to preach to the Ninevites, but instead of going towards Nineveh, Jonah runs in the opposite direction to Tarshish. He does not want God to show kindness to his enemies, and in so doing, chooses the more difficult path. Much to his chagrin, the people genuinely repent, and yet this is his response to the Lord:
That is why I made haste to flee to Tarshish; for I knew that You are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster. (Jonah 4:2)
He’s saying, God, I knew You would be kind to them. I knew You would give them what I don’t want them to have. In the following verse, he tells the Lord to just kill him then and there. Jonah is fed up.
How does this story remotely relate to my view of singleness? Jonah mirrors my inward wrestling. As I heard Paige Brown say in a study years ago, “It’s the heart, stupid!” God is always after our hearts, not our behavior modification. Maybe you can see the parallels.
- God, I knew you’d let her get married.
- Of course, he would pick her.
- I just knew you would give them a happy ending.
- You show favor and kindness to so many other people, just not me.
I never got to the extreme of “You can just kill me now” with the Lord, but I did wonder: What’s the point? What’s the point of my life if I don’t get to marry and start a family?
At this juncture in my story, you may be thinking I am kind of selfish and dramatic. And you would be right. It’s not that I didn’t have some sweet moments with the Lord in those years, but by avoiding the heart of the matter, I kept my relationship with God at bay. My selfishness blinded me to my poor perspective; thankfully, my pruning was just about to begin. As with Naomi and Jonah, God had patience with me.
But I learned slowly.
The Unknowns
In this season, I felt terrified by unknowns— so much of my life felt like a mystery. But hope didn’t have to be a distant friend. I knew God cared, at least in my head. I wrote this poem in an attempt to infuse hope back into my heart, not just my head.
Caring is a frightening sentiment indeed,
One never knows where hopes may lead.
A beauty exists in dreaming of what could be,
Yet fears taint everything I see.
I don’t know what tomorrow holds
If the ones I admire will think well of me
Or if I’ll remain a fixture in the shadows
These thoughts make all hope flee.
I don’t know what stories will unfold this year.
If cherished friends will find a deeper tether,
Or if they’re only moored in fair weather.
Oh, what will become of these friends so dear?
I do not know how many journeys I will try.
Will little ones call my name and walk with me hand in hand?,
Or will I trek alone in dry lands?
Will no one be by my side through life’s joys and cries?
I do not know, oh, I do not know.
Yet this I know: If tomorrow I wake up
To a day filled with dark and terrifying unknowns,
Every care will be heard before the Throne,
His presence fills my cup.
I know with every unexpected conversation or call,
No circumstance will catch Him off guard
He looks at me not with disapproval but with kindest regard.
He takes me by the hand every time I fall.
I know that whether my days are long or brief
He has a purpose in each one of them
Every moment is a gift from which can stem
The roots of uncompromising belief.
I don’t know many things about this life.
But even if it’s full of confusion and strife,
What I need to understand was told long ago
In the most precious Book, full of the only truth that can help me grow.
I know though weak and small, I have been called by the King.
I know despite failures, He will always give me reasons to sing.
I know when I feel lost and forgotten, in His sight I am always seen.
I know when I ask for help, from His kind wisdom I can always glean.
I know when insecurities run deep, He still whispers His delight over me.
I know when lies drain me of hope, His promises will set me free.
So take heart my weary soul,
This life may take its toll,
But my Shepherd’s voice is louder than what’s broken,
I know I will find hope in every Word He’s spoken
by Hannah De Cleene | Jun 18, 2026 | Theology
Maybe, like me, singleness wasn’t what you had planned for your life. Maybe you are one of those five- or ten-year planners, and you’ve dreamed about the perfect wedding down to date and location since high school. Maybe the very idea of minute details makes your skin crawl. Maybe you’re somewhere in the middle, but regardless, you never anticipated being single at this stage.
This stage of life is defined in many ways, the exciting moments of moving to a new city, starting a new career, buying a house, or attending a high school reunion. You’ve done far more on your own than you wanted, and these milestones seem to be a constant reminder that you’re building your life by yourself.
All. By. Yourself.
Maybe someone close to you is walking through singleness. You want to offer encouragement, but your friend is done. They are fed up and tired of reading singleness books that tell them waiting is a good thing, so you’re reading it for them. My mother did that for me because at certain times, my disheartened perspective clouded my judgment. The last thing I wanted to do was read another book or article on the purpose of singleness. I groaned at the label, the pitying looks at church and work, and the feeble attempts to set me up with a friend’s second-cousin’s buddy who just so happens to be single. I wanted to pretend all of it wasn’t a big deal, but underneath the sighs and polite smiles, I felt quite lost.
Solomon taught us there’s nothing new under the sun. Just look at the multitude of relationship books that Amazon can deliver to your doorstep by tomorrow morning. Do we need another one?
What this book isn’t: a book on dating. It is not a formula to find a husband, or a way to answer whether you have the gift of lifelong singleness. This is a book about a girl who needed to learn the value of contentment, full of the stories the Lord used to teach me, the Scriptures that shaped me, and the truth that is transforming a complaining spirit into a joyful one.
Confronting Both Sin & Struggles in Singleness
A significant component of my journey entailed seeing the “both-and.” I had to acknowledge to God and others the difficult elements of singleness and see the selfishness in my own heart. Contentment couldn’t grow until both elements became a consistent part of my perspective. I was and still am a sinner who needs to confess my faults and a girl who needed to grieve the disappointments of a more solitary life.
Before we continue, one point needs clarity: Singleness is not divine discipline. Singleness often gets framed as if it’s a consequence of sin. This mirrors the disciples’ assumption in John 9. They encountered a blind man and asked if he or his parents caused the blindness. Jesus dismantles their assumption altogether; the blindness occurred to display God’s power. Singleness can carry that same purpose. God often showcases His handiwork through hardships.
If you have grown up in the church or are familiar with Scripture, you know that God calls singleness a gift in 1 Corinthians 7. For me, this phase of life uncovered sins that needed to be brought to light. Singleness didn’t make me selfish. Singleness didn’t cause me to be ungrateful; singleness revealed my current heart condition.
But God. Thankfully, we don’t stop there. The Lord invites us to repent of our sins and acknowledge how we’ve been disappointed by people or situations. We get to cast all our cares upon Him because both repentance and grief have a necessary place in our lives.
We can’t retreat into a victim narrative, whine in self-pity, and then blame everyone else for our sorrow. We are faulty humans who need the truth of God’s Word to permeate our hearts so we can find grace to help in our time of need, as Hebrews 4:16 promises. indulge
These truths slowly started to sink in right after I graduated from college. My Dad sent me a sermon by J.D. Greear entitled, “This Light and Momentary Marriage.” Although a reluctant listener, I obliged as my father always had good reasons for sharing sermons with me. The message surprised me and was the first time I recalled a pastor talking about the value of both marriage and singleness; instead of marriage being more important, both are good, equally. Marriage does not inherently hold more value than singleness, and singleness is not a cure-all for loneliness. But his comment on insecurity stopped me in my tracks:
Lonely, insecure, unhappy single people become lonely, insecure, unhappy married people. They follow you to the altar, and they disappear for a little while, but they come back up.
Those words burned like lime juice, revealing a papercut.
This is where my story in singleness began. I started as an insecure, unhappy girl who believed that if I just met the right guy and got married, life would fall into my happily ever after. I never anticipated singleness being a significant chapter of my adult life. Watching my older siblings and friends, life seemed so simple: you go to college, get a degree, find your spouse, and start a life together. I followed that same trajectory, going to college and earning a degree, but instead of a ring on my finger, I graduated with good grades and no plan for the future. At 21, I had zero idea of how to navigate these uncharted waters, nor did many people in my family and social circles. I was unprepared for the turbulence of singleness.
As a kid, I enjoyed a ride called the Silly Silo — part joy, part menace. I’d step into that towering metal barrel with trepidation, but then the floor vanished, gravity shifted, and the world tilted as I spun faster and faster. Up felt sideways, down was but a rumor, and I stumbled out dizzy, grinning, and unsure how to stand straight again. My journey in singleness was a little bit like this. I got a lot wrong before the daze started to clear: God had given me a gift. For years, I rolled my eyes at Paul’s commentary in 1 Corinthians 7 in which he audaciously wished singleness upon people by saying he thought it “good for them to remain single, as I am.” How could Paul wish such a thing?
I thought his words downplayed marriage, as if he were telling me I shouldn’t even desire to get married. I sheepishly acknowledged that the Bible had a good reason for these verses, but I didn’t want to wrestle through the passage because I feared the words might reveal something I didn’t want to hear. So I avoided thinking about that chapter too much because how could singleness really be good?
The Pruning of Singleness
Although reluctant to admit it, singleness provided me with a beautiful benefit: opportunity. I ziplined through Ecuadorian mountains, cooked Paella in Spain’s hill country, learned to mix concrete for huts in Honduras, and even defended my Abuelita from a rat with an old wooden broom. But in all my adventures, I never learned anything about plants. I don’t have a green thumb. Quite the opposite; I have a steady track record of killing anything green, in or out of doors. This lack of skill resurfaced when I inherited several rose bushes in my new house. And it just so happened that we bought the plant house of the neighborhood—no pressure.
With apprehension, I attempted to befriend these plants and keep them alive. Like any respectable novice, I turned to the experts. I googled “How to take care of rose bushes.” Perusing a handful of articles, one topic came up again and again: pruning. The best way to take care of roses is to prune them. At first, I imagined this to be a spiffy new haircut, trimming off the excess to make the bush look ready for school pictures. Wrong. If I wanted these bushes to blossom in the summer, I had to cut almost 90% of the branches months earlier, just like a vintner cuts grapevines. Only when cut to the base of each stem could the flowers have a chance to bloom. I hesitated because the prescription felt counterintuitive. I wanted my bush to grow, but to make that happen, I had to cut back all the branches to ugly, puny stubs.
In John 15, Jesus uses the idea of pruning to teach the disciples a thing or two about spiritual growth.
I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit…Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing (vs 1-2, 4-5).
In a message by Sam Allberry, he describes how bearing much fruit for the Lord requires a significant amount of pruning. We shouldn’t be shocked when the cutting comes. Yes, there will be times when it feels like God is killing us and we are convinced He’s pruning us too severely. But maybe it’s good for us. Maybe God is never as close to the branch as when He’s pruning it. In the moment, the act itself doesn’t feel loving, but only through cutting back can true growth happen. God can use any number of situations to prune us: an illness, a hard marriage, rebellious children, or an unfulfilling career. For me, He used singleness.
I equated staying single with God hacking off all hopes of happiness. I thought maybe if I prayed hard and served well enough, God would refrain from any more pruning and grant me a godly spouse, as if God were the teacher who gave gold stars to A+ students. But He had deeper lessons to teach me that couldn’t be rushed; my selfishness and self-pitying mentality made singleness the worst possible outcome. I needed more than a cute little trim.
My pruning came in stages. God showed both faithfulness and patience with me as He remained true to His Word; He had to prune my heart so I could bear fruit.
The Stages of Singleness
Maybe you’ve heard people talk about the stages of grief, but I think that framework also fits the stages of singleness. The more I reflect on these years, the more I see these unique signs of progression.
Complaining gives way to comparing
Comparing gives way to contemplating
Contemplating gives way to hope
Hope gives way to considerations
Considerations give way to captivation
Captivation gives way to confidence
Confidence gives way to contentment
That may not make a lot of sense at first. What did I consider? How exactly did I find confidence? Clearly, these statements are not an exact formula or a trajectory chart but more of an up-and-down description of how the singleness journey became a treasured gift from my good God.
Elephant in the Room
Before I go on much further, I must acknowledge something that has only been alluded to. I’ve said single in the past tense. At the start of this project, I had been a Mrs. for about ten months. And since then, I’ve also become a mother. So if you are single, you may roll your eyes a little about another married person writing a book on singleness. I had those same exact thoughts.
I’ve listened to the podcasts, sat in the crowd at conference panels, and read several books and articles on singleness. Often, not always, but often, I got the impression these writers and speakers had arrived. They had been promoted from the hardships of singleness and could now talk to me, a girl still in the trenches. That posture added a level of despair. I felt beneath these leaders I admired. Some of that arose from my perspective; insecurities tend to bring about overly sensitive interpretations, and some of that came from the delivery.
You can’t audibly hear my tone, but I wish you could. I can tell you this—I don’t have it all figured out, and wiser people than I have written about singleness. From 18-34, I lived it, the good, the bad, and the lonely. Through time and experience, the Lord instilled confidence that He had a purpose for my singleness.
I trusted Christ as my savior at 14 years old. I submitted my whole life to be used in whatever way He wanted, and He invited me to invest in the hard and humbling work of examining my heart. This process inevitably revealed selfishness and pride. Much of this book comes from that wrestling. The journals from my single years overflow with questions, complaints, and poems about singleness. I am simply taking those rough drafts of real life and turning them into reflections on these lessons. I couldn’t always connect the dots of what God was doing in the moment, and I lived most of these years with no hope of a man on the horizon. But in every one of these stages, God pruned my heart so I could be more of who He wanted me to be.
Preaching Truth in Each Stage
This may sound like a unique way to handle the tribulations of singleness, but putting pen to poetry is how I deepen the truths I preach to myself. The poems are quite simple. I’ve always wanted to write poetry that people could readily connect to and understand. Sonnets and Haikus have their place, but my style is merely the honest prayers of a girl trying to cling to truth.
I don’t always know how to wrestle well with my emotions and questions, and so I write. Often, I felt alone in my struggle, and maybe that’s you now. Perhaps in this book, you will find the echoes of a long-lost friend who understands a little of what you are walking through, just like C.S. Lewis described:
Friendship arises out of mere Companionship when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest or even taste which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure (or burden). The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, “What? You too? I thought I was the only one.”
You are not the only one. While hard, this season can be full of joy from the Lord. God may or may not grant you a spouse, but He does have a purpose for you in this journey because singleness is beautiful, not purposeless. Instead of swimming in my own what ifs, like what if I never get married, I needed to remind my soul of God’s character.
Feeble but Faithful Steps
In a sea of unknown, I tried to remember that growth happens one step at a time. I couldn’t see what God was doing in my life, nor did I like it, but I penned these words in an attempt to remind myself to simply take the next step.
Walking in faith is not easy to do,
But a narrow road followed by only a few.
The first feeble steps are taken with joy
But rough terrain threatens to kill and destroy.
Obedience comes at a heightened cost,
Ignore the call, and we wander quite lost.
We labor like mad to please one and all,
But more often than not, we falter and fall.
Even when our actions are true and right,
We still sense defeat in the dark of night.
As shadows of fear sweep over the soul,
And moments of weakness exact their steep toll.
Remember, O Soul
Remember the One who once walked this ground,
Knowing our world’s every sight, smell, and sound.
He followed the steps of His Father’s way,
And atoned for what man could never repay.
.
Loving and serving to the very end,
Showing kindness no one could comprehend.
In the midst of our sin, He took our place,
So one day we could call upon His sweet grace.
When He arose, every promise of old
Was made good so we could truly behold
How shadows no longer rule the soul.
His moment of weakness makes us truly whole.
Times will come when our world seems to crumble,
In every step, we trip and we stumble.
But no matter the hurt or pain that’s faced,
His faithfulness will never be erased.
When we retrace the steps of His story,
Our small feeble steps will lead to His glory.
