What is God Waiting For???!

Mom after mom, sermon after sermon, speech after speech I heard the same thing. “You’re not married, yet? Why? What’s wrong with you? But you are so pretty. You are so smart. You have a good job or you went to school or you are so talented. I just don’t get it. You must be…” strangers comment. People I haven’t known for 20 minutes would begin to analyze and trouble shoot my dating habits. And I would help them. “Well, I started dating late,” I would begin. If they weren’t impressed with that, I would tell them that I didn’t understand men. Or explain how my father died when I was young and my mother didn’t date again. Still no excuse ever seemed to be the right one for them. They never listen to me but always have a response, “Oh, I see. You know what your problem really is...”

And even though I went along with them, joined them and co-signed their hypothesis, I was really left thinking, what do you mean what’s wrong with me? I had my own reasons for not owning the title of wife. Like: It just wasn’t my time. But really, I didn’t know when time it was. I’m not the sentimental, sappy, romantic, plan-a-wedding type. But secretly, secretly, even I want to get married.

Day after day, special event after holiday or work occasion after community festival I would try to tell myself that nothing was wrong with me. I am perfectly the way God wants me to be at this point in my life. But after a few years, I began to question me too. What is wrong with me? Aren’t I pretty? Or maybe I’m not pretty enough. Maybe my arms and my waist are too big and my legs have too much muscle in comparison to the rest of me. Or maybe I’m not that smart? Who am I kidding; I definitely need to work on a few areas. Or maybe I don’t have the right job, education, look, portion of talent? Maybe there is something that’s really wrong with me?!

In my mind, I would try to rationalize my irrational thoughts. I could lose some weight. But my husband should love me for my virtue not my hips, or lack of. But I would continue, who are you fooling, virtuous?!! Please, you’re used goods. Or I would list my accomplishments. As if I have done something so great that I could impress God into my assignment earlier.

No matter what, my internal dialogue was it would always end with, ok, so if I’m not all that, but I’m not that bad, either. So tell me, what the heck is God waiting on? Of course the Maker of All Things knows that I would make a pretty awesome rib to protect a man’s heart. So, why aren’t I married yet? What in the world is God waiting for?

I would read these depressing books about singleness and its satisfaction, but I couldn’t believe them. As far as I knew, I was single and lonely. Single meaning just one; I’m just the o-n-e that sits inside the word, lonely. And this was no ordinary bout with loneliness, it was serious. The kind of lonely that creeps out of your garage at night and sneaks its way into the opening to the attic then crawls around creaking in your ceiling when you are lying in bed with the lights out. Or maybe it’s the type of loneliness that tells you that you are a giraffe standing in a field of rabbits. The feeling is uncomfortable, rejecting, frightening, and familiar all at the same time.