When People Say They’ll Pray for You

I am imagining a couple of different scenarios.

In the first scenario, I have poured my heart out to someone. Something worries, troubles, or afflicts me, and I vulnerably divulge those burdens. And the person on the receiving end says, “I’ll pray for you.”  This response is often genuine. But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s the easy way out. Truthfully, it is easier to tell me that you will pray for me than it is to walk or talk with me through pain.  Sometimes this response is a way to absolve them of their communal responsibility to respond to my needs, to carry burdens, to be present.

In the second scenario, someone who knows very little about me tells me they will pray for me. This, too, is often genuine (and appreciated). But why does the person feel the need vocalize their intent to pray for me? I think, in this case,the “I’ll pray for you” response may be marshaled as a means to gain greater access to me. Perhaps it is vocalized not to reveal their prayer intentions but their relational intentions. In other words, “I care about you” or “I want to be involved in your life.” So the relational desire is cloaked in spiritual language.

So, what to make of this?

I don’t throw these scenarios out as criticisms. I generally appreciate when people tell me they will pray for me (whether they actually do or not). I contemplate these scenarios because I think there is more to the utterance than what we interpret at face-value. There is more to it than simply revealing one’s prayer intentions. Isn’t it possible that “I’ll pray for you” is actually a rhetorical move to dodge the responsibility of doing the gritty community?  Isn’t it also possible that “I’ll pray for you” is actually a rhetorical move to attempt to foster a greater sense of connectedness?

Working Through Family Problems

I went to Colorado this past weekend.  The change of scenery was much needed. New experiences were much needed.  I was hoping for some peace and clarity after an incredibly tumultuous and contentious few weeks here at home.  I am having family problems.  It’s amazing how we can look like the perfect family on the outside…my parents have been married for almost 30 years.  We are, more or less, an in-tact, middle class family. We live comfortably and without any major issues.  Yet, if you peel back the top layer, you will find years of hurt, pain, frustration, misunderstanding, and other junk.

And it’s starting to push through the surface.

So, I’m back home from my trip. I didn’t necessarily find any peace or clarity out west. But I did manage to come back with a humble heart and an open mind.  I am not going to expend any more energy explaining or defending whatever I’ve done in the past. I will not try to make others understand and believe what I say about stuff that is over and done with. The past is the past. People can think what they want to think about my past decisions.  Instead, I will expend my energy trying to become a better person. For so long, my goal has been for my family to understand and accept me. I am aborting that mission. My new mission is to make everyone in my family feel special.  That might mean that I have to go out of my way and be the bigger person far more often than I want to. It might mean I’ll have to do things I’ve never done before or that don’t make sense to me.  But if it will begin the healing process in my family, I think it will be worth it.

I haven’t been like Jesus to my family. But I want to be.

I’m Too Selfish for Sex

This decade of my life is teaching me how selfish I am.  Sometimes rightfully so…like I selfishly put aside a lot of things in order to finish graduate school.  Sometimes not  rightfully so…like I selfishly dodge committing to a church community.

But it occurred to me the other day that I am too selfish for sex.

I believe that sex is beautiful and powerful and fantastic.  And I also believe it makes one person out of two.  It unites. It bonds.  And the oneness is, in some ways, irreversible.

Quite honestly, I don’t want to be one with another person!  I want to have me all to myself.  I would make a terrible wife.  I would advise against marrying me.

The Heartbreak of Breaking Hearts

There is no pain like that of breaking someone else’s heart.

The person dumped is not the only one who hurts.

The pain of the breakup is compounded by the pain of knowing you have broken someone’s heart.

The Good Kind of Alone

I am alone.  I have been pondering my singleness much more lately.  And the words to articulate my experience are sort of clumsily emerging like a baby chicken hatching out of an egg. So here I go.

I am alone.

Yesterday evening, I was standing in the kitchen, washing dishes and listening to music. When my favorite parts would come on, I would sing at the top of my lungs.  And then hold rinsed glasses up to the light to make sure they were spotless. I cooked a nice dinner for myself, sat down at the table, and lit a candle. I ate alone.  And I was incredibly content. Peaceful. Restful. Satisfied. Content. This is not all that unusual for me, but my awareness of it, perhaps, is.  I had this startling sense of rightness. Like this is exactly how my life should be.

Over the last few months, I have been seriously contemplating whether or not the Lord is calling me to a lifetime of singleness.  There’s a lot to that…that I don’t feel like typing. But I wonder.  Sure, alone sometimes sucks. Like when I have way more grocery bags than I can haul on my own from my car to my apartment. Or when I need a dancing partner for Salsa Nights. Or when I don’t know what kind of new tires to put on my car (which, by the way, resulted in me putting expensive performance tires on my Toyota Matrix). But in general, this is a life I enjoy. This is the good kind of alone.

I have tried to manufacture a desire for marriage. It almost always feels artificial to me.  Much like non-wine-drinkers really truly trying to enjoy a nice red wine for which they simply have not acquired a taste.  I feel odd for not wanting what so many other women painfully long for.  Deep down, I wonder if I have simply extinguished the desire out of disillusionment.  But if singleness is not the life for me, I don’t know why I enjoy it so much.

So here I am…25…and alone.  Maybe for now. Maybe forever.  Peaceful. Restful. Satisfied. Content. The good kind of alone.

Why I’m Still Single

The other day someone asked my friend why she’s single. She’s younger than I am and has had more serious relationships (and has good explanations for why she’s single).  So, not only was I alarmed that someone would ask her that, but I was pained by what the question implied about my own life.

So why am I still single?

1. Abstinence.  I made a decision to not have sex until I got married (which also means I won’t do a lot of things that would throw me into temptation). Now I am in my mid twenties, still sticking to that conviction. The plain and simple truth is that no one I’ve met has been willing to wait on me. I don’t have sex. They don’t stick around. It is that simple, and it is THE biggest problem I’ve run into in dating.

2. Intellect. If I may toot my own horn for a minute…I’m a pretty intelligent lady.  God has graciously gifted me with some measure of mental prowess. And while I have little interest in or inclination to go around flexing my intellectual muscles, like any gift, if you are around someone long enough, you will perceive it.  Men have been intimidated or frustrated by my intellect. So they tap out.

3. Race. I’m Black. Black women are not generally viewed as the most beautiful or desirable in our society. It’s just a simple fact of living in this society, and I’ve accepted it. No one’s chasing us. And, because media and culture have hypersexualized images of black women, when we are pursued, it is often only as objects of sexual fantasy. Media and culture have also presented black women as difficult and having bad attitudes, etc.   That is a really unattractive stereotype that is difficult to break.

4. Circumstance.  So many things are beyond my control. I’ve relocated often. I pursued graduate-level education which is demanding, time-consuming, and isolating. I live in a college town, where most men are younger than I am (not necessarily a problem) and many have been students in my class!  I’ve attended churches with virtually no available men.  The circumstances of my life have just not always been conducive to relationships.

I’m certain I could continue with this list, naming both personal issues and issues beyond me.  But I think those four have a great deal of explanatory power concerning my singleness.  Yesterday, I was feeling kind of regretful about how guarded I have been when dating someone.  Then I happened upon an old Mark Driscoll sermon in my iTunes podcasts that I had not listened to. The sermon was entitled “I Was a Wall” from the Peasant Princess series and based on Chapter 8 from Song of Songs. And it spoke directly to my heart.  I was deeply encouraged by his message that I have made right and wise decisions in not allowing ungodly and undeserving men undue access to me and my life.  I have been a wall.  People have mocked, criticized, and insulted me because of this, and it’s been painful.

But…

I’m encouraged and strengthened today. I’ve made decisions that have meant sacrificing companionship. And so I experience all the joys and sorrows of “still” being single. But I’m doing my best to live a life pleasing to God, and I’m not ready to give up on that, no matter what it cost me in relationships.

Hot Holes

Last night someone accused me of being dishonest, emotionally unavailable, and incapable of showing compassion.

Probably some of the most hurtful words ever hurled my way.

They were like flaming arrows that punctured gaping hot  holes into the core of my being.

It still stings today.  More painful than that, though, is that yet again I am misunderstood and apparently not worth anyone’s effort.

Three Strikes

The topic was dating. I was talking with a guy friend of mine recently.  He said, “Honestly, I hate to say it, but you’re starting out with three strikes. One, you’re really intelligent. Two, you’re African American. And three, you’re not having sex.”

He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, but it’s a damn shame.

My Problem

I am so simple that I’m not.

My simplicity is surprising, unexpected, and, therefore, complex to many.

People are confused by me…though they shouldn’t be at all.

This is lonely.

Comparing Pain

I think it is less painful to be alone than to be with someone who eventually rejects you.