An Open Letter to Well-Meaning Friends and Others Who Have Decided That I Need a Life:

So, apparently, one’s 20s are like a hung-over baby shower. I wish I could take credit for that analogy, but it’s not mine. It came from Jonathan Tran’s sermon this morning at Calvary. Recovery from the glory days of college and a longing for whatever comes next (marriage, a white picket fence, and 2.5 kids). But seldom does anyone stop to enjoy where they are in the moment. That period of singleness and trying to figure out what one wants to be if one grows up is a time not to be embraced, but endured. Unfortunately, churches in America fall into the same trap as the rest of us. By worshipping at the altar of the nuclear family, churches tend to equate, however unconsciously, marriage with holiness and closeness to God. This is not a helpful understanding of church and community, much less a biblical standard of holiness. It is, however, the reality that many such as myself find ourselves dealing with.

Let me be clear here. I don’t think Calvary is the rule in this. In many ways, it is the exception, in no small measure due to people like Jonathan Tran and his lovely wife, Carrie, who have made it their mission to pour into the 20-somethings in the church, offering us a safe place where we can vent our frustrations, worry about our futures, and rest—yes, rest. Psalm 37, from which much of Jonathan’s sermon was inspired, says “Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:3-4). These verses do not point to work as Americans frequently understand it, but to listening to, being attuned to, being aware of the presence of God. This is work properly ordered. Rest in the Lord, then do the good that the Lord has placed in front of you.

I can say, as one who has survived all but the last 5 months of my 20s at this point, that I have probably needed more rest over the last decade than at any other point in my life. I can also safely say that I have gotten less rest in the same time period than at any other time in my life. By rest, I—like the Psalmist—am not necessarily talking about sleep (though I did save all of my all-nighters for graduate school). I’m talking about a space where I can be among friends who will help me bear the burdens of this long, strange trip from being a kid to being a “grown up”—whatever that means; a place where I am understood; a place where I can tell the stories of my life and have people say, “Me too.” I have not had this kind of rest for much of my 20s because I haven’t had a church where those kinds of things were okay.

A funny thing happened once I graduated from Baylor. People started asking, with much greater frequency, if I was dating, when I was going to start dating, or if being done with my PhD now meant that I could have “a life.” I have been bewildered and, frankly, quite frustrated by these inquiries. First of all, anyone who knows me, even just a little, knows that I’ve never had “a life,” as that phrase seems to be commonly understood (dating, going out, etc.). I wouldn’t know what “a life” was unless it came up to me and introduced itself. But what is truly irritating, downright disheartening, is the implication behind these questions. Who I am in this place in my life, what I have accomplished, what I still want to accomplish—none of that is good enough if I haven’t found “The One.” I guess I got a free pass while I was writing my dissertation. People have often joked of being married to their dissertation. Married friends have called their spouse’s dissertation a “mistress.” But apparently being done with my dissertation meant it was time to get to the real business of life: marriage and procreation—hopefully in that order.

My church attendance last semester was spotty at best. Most of the time, I just didn’t feel like it was worth it to go. I was frustrated and angry, but I couldn’t quite figure out why. It wasn’t until this morning during Jonathan’s sermon that I realized what was wrong. I had bought into all the nonsense. As a single woman, approaching 30, with 2 cats, but no romantic prospects, I was on the precipice of becoming the stereotype: the crazy old cat lady. What did I have to offer the church? What did I have to offer anyone? And it made me angry—both at the world and at myself. Why wasn’t I good enough? Just me. No husband, no kids except the 4-legged, furry kind. Why couldn’t that be enough for people? And then I was angry at myself. Why did I allow myself to believe all of that?

This morning, Jonathan reminded us that for the early church, singleness, not marriage and family, was the preferred paradigm. He also reminded us that our mission, our vocation, our goal should be to be all that we are in Christ, not in marriage. We as a community of believers should help bear one another’s burdens. The modern church has uplifted the marriage covenant at the expense of the Church. One’s husband or wife is to be the one to bear one’s burdens. This is really unfair to spouses, by the way. Why make one person put up with all of your crap alone? That’s just wrong. It’s also not what God envisioned. The marriage covenant is important—of course it is. But it is not, nor was it ever intended to be, the most important thing in the lives of believers. If the community of believers has broken down, the answer is not to throw one’s hands up and say, “Well, never mind. Just get married instead.” The answer is to fix the community; this is the work of all who live in the community—single, married, with children or without, widows, children.

So I say to all of my friends and other well-meaning folks in my life who have inquired about my timeline for getting “a life:” I have one. And it is rich and fulfilling, occasionally frustrating and worrisome, but full of friends and fun—even with my cats (two men, by the way, destined to never leave the toilet seat up or hog the TV or make me pick up their socks). I am enough all by myself. I don’t know if I’m in a place where I can say that with as much confidence as I would like, and that’s why I need my friends not to ask when I’m going to get “a life” but how life is going. I deserve to be surrounded by people who see me as whole and complete just the way I am, and they deserve the same in return from me. There will be no more suggestions of internet dating or blind dates or “putting yourself out there.” God has a plan for me today and tomorrow and the next day and the next. That plan may include a guy who enjoys Broadway musicals and football in equal measure and who isn’t afraid to look me in the eye and tell me I’m full of shit, or it may not. That’s okay, because I have plenty of friends who enjoy either Broadway musicals or football, and no matter in which camp they fall, none of them are afraid to tell me I’m full of it.

I am thankful and incredibly blessed to have people who care about my well-being—even if their inquiries occasionally drive me nuts. I have friends who love me, a niece and a nephew who are pretty perfect, a family that supports me, and a church that has meant more to me that words can possibly express. I am blessed, I am loved, and I am a child of God. That’s all I need to be complete.