It is worth considering this question of How then should I live? I'm not talking about asking yourself, How then should I get a man? Or How then should I explain my singleness? Or even How then should I prepare for life alone? Those questions have some merit, but they are secondary. Rather, I'm talking about asking for your eyes to be opened to see what's real and then learning how to move forward in reality, even if it's wading one step at a time through periodic waves of tears. Your steps will likely be different from mine or from any of the other four-Boston residents. They could lead anywhere—to quiet, hidden, heart places or to large, dramatic, public stages. To marriage, to a single life. To home ownership, to a rented apartment. To a meaning-filled career or "just a job" that pays the bills. Most recently, my steps have led me to risk entrusting my Saturday nights to God. It might sound like a really small example, but it's one of the toughest things in the world for me. Just combine an extrovert hungry for intimacy with a lot of songs running around in her head about Saturday nights—there are a lot out there—and the outcome is obvious. She can be one lonely and dissatisfied chick on the weekends. So instead of numbing out, I'm asking God to step into my Saturday night scene. I have no idea where that request will lead. But I'm up for the adventure.
Last spring I was in Colorado for another conference. I spent one lunch hour with Esther, a wise and beautiful African woman, who in her fifties, is still single. She is the sort of woman whose eyes make me want to trade secrets. Our conversation meandered from work to men. "Esther," I asked, "do you think you've been called to be single?" She sat, quiet, and looked at me with one of those Dr. Houston kind of looks (maybe there was something similar in the water of Scotland and Kenya that each of these two drank growing up). With a lilt in her voice she said, "Yes, Connally, for today I am called to be single. I cannot say about tomorrow."
For today I am called to be single. I cannot say about tomorrow. That is how I want to live: not anxiously asking why but simply looking for what is supposed to be for today. I think of the story about Jesus with the man who was born blind. Jesus' disciples were concerned with figuring out why this man was blind—whose issue was to blame, so to speak. "Who," they wanted to know, "sinned … causing him to be born blind?" Jesus' response always amazes me: "You're asking the wrong question. You're looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do."ii Or as another version puts it, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned. … This happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life."iii And then Jesus demonstrated that in fact God is at work today; he miraculously healed the guy.
Sometimes I think that one of the primary works God has done in my life is to tenderize and enrich my heart through the "Why aren't I married?" struggle—the suffering I still hesitate to call by that name for fear of others rolling their eyes. But instead of the disappointment leaving me a cold, bitter, angry wench or a hotly desperate man-eater, it's wrought a heart more capable of and committed to giving and receiving love. That, in my estimation, is miracle-level material. And though anything might happen tomorrow, that is the work of God I've seen today.
Given all this, wouldn't it be something if the next time someone asked you, "So, why aren't you married?" you paused, looked him or her in the eye, and then quietly replied, "Honestly, the bottom line is pretty simple. The reason I'm not married is so that today the work of God might be displayed in my life."
That would be quite the answer. It wouldn't be a snappy one, but it just might be the truth.
ii John 9:2-3, The Message.
iii John 9:3, NIV.
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