I hang out with an awesome group of women on Wednesday nights. I am the oldest of the group (shocker…) and their leader, for lack of a better term. Mainly, that means I select the books or passages we read and try to keep us on track in our conversations. Both tasks are harder than you would think.
I just came back from one of our meetings, uplifted and encouraged by what God is doing in the lives of these fantastic women, and did the one thing I know I should not do – sat down in front of the Intertubes. My In Box was full of messages from Christian writers, all extolling the glories of Mother’s Day (and offering discounts off thoughtful Christian gifts for mothers).
All these just chapped my hide. Don’t get me wrong, I have an awesome mom. Probably the most awesome mom on the planet. (I know you think *you* have the most awesome mom on the planet, but trust me – mine’s awesomer.) I know that I was not an easy child to raise (insert vivid memories of hormone-fueled crying jags in 7th grade here…) and the fact that she did, and that I’m a semi-functioning adult today, and that we still love hanging out together, is testimony to her awesomeness.
I know motherhood is amazing, and challenging, and I’m sure far more difficult that I can ever imagine at this point in my life. Just four hours with my three-year-old niece and I’m more than happy to never, ever, ever hear the word “why” again in my lifetime. I know personally dozens of mothers who have me in awe of their creativity, their strength, and their relentless pursuit of raising kids who love Jesus. We should celebrate them. I bow to them. They are fantastic.
They are not me. And that upsets me. Because I want to be them.
Being a single woman, more often than not, blows chunks. I know that I should probably be waving my “God Loves Singles! We Have Purpose and Meaning!” banner high, but sometimes that banner gets really freakin’ heavy. Yes, I have the freedom to spend my money how I want, to spend my time how I want, to have no demands on my life outside of the ones I choose. And lots of the time, it sucks. Having unlimited freedom sounds amazing, until you realize it comes with no expectations. No needs. No dependencies. We’re made, as humans, to need each other, to live in relationship with each other. No one needs me. No one is living in those most intimate of relationships with me – ones where we bump up against each other’s sinfulness and broken places, but in doing so help make each other more like Jesus.
So I’m advocating for a “Non-Mother’s Day”. Or perhaps a “Not-Yet-A-Mother-But-Clinging-To-Hope-While-My-Ovaries-Age Day”. Just a little sumthin’ sumthin’ to get me through a season of waiting, and waiting, and waiting while the aforementioned ovaries continue their march towards shriveled-ness. Something to get me through the fact that I’m staring down another Memorial Day gathering with all my amazing college friends, and once again I’m the only unmarried one there. Something besides the standard “plenty of fish in the sea” speech.
I don’t know what I need.
Yes, I do.
It’s Jesus.
But sometimes, when I’m facing a full In Box, He feels very far away.