Letting Go of Dreams, Part 1

What a semester this was. It began in August with the incoming college students and my yearly draw to find love (for clarification: I do not look for love among the college students. Their return is simply a changing of seasons like needy, beautiful 18 year old fall leaves). There is something about August that triggers the “I want a man” gene in me and leads me back to the dismal world of online dating.

August hit. I joined the sites. I was on the search for men who were husband material. It was ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly. Nothing makes a single, liberal, tall, fat, smart, independent, emotionally stable(ish), minister feel lonely like realizing that not many men are looking for just that. Or anything near that. I found myself scouring three different sites for a glimmer of hope. I prayed. I researched. I planned to totally clean my house. “God? Is there any chance for me to find love?”

A few weeks later, I got an answer. Christians who have sought God’s will for a long time have their various ways of feeling God speak. In my way, God spoke. Clearly and without a doubt, God told me:

Stop looking.

That is all I got. I knew it wasn’t the kind of “stop looking” that meant the man of my dreams was already in my life. It was the kind of “stop looking” that meant it was time to let this dream go.

“Stop looking” came to me in August. I didn’t want to hear it. It wasn’t until the end of October that I began going back to God with this issue and finally saying okay. I stopped looking and began to accept the strong possibility that a husband and babies in my stomach were not for my life.

I was heartbroken. I am heartbroken. Broken heart or not, I knew that God’s voice is not one to be ignored. I can leave ministry any day and find a husband within months who wants to marry a much less complicated woman who owns her own house. I can quit putting my faith and convictions so high on the list of priorities and marry a nice liberal boy who doesn’t really like Jesus but loves the gays.

No. I stopped looking and began grieving. In the back of my head, I thought that God had a wonderful blessing in the place of my lifelong dream.

Two days later, my parents finally sold their house. Hallelujah! What a blessing! Maybe this wiggle room will allow them to begin visiting me and become involved in my life in some small way! I can have my family back!

Dad tithed on every penny made from the house.

A day after he wrote the last check, my sister tried to kill herself. Fuuuuuuck.
That week she moved into my parents’ house with her 3 sons. They began plans to build her a house right behind theirs (goodbye money). Our family finally accepted that she will never be stable or independent. She will live with them and depend on them for the rest of their lives.

I am heartbroken for my sister’s broken self. I worry for my nephews. I hurt with my parents. My biggest feeling is purely selfish: my quickly aging parents have no more resources, time, or energy to actively be a part of my life. She gets it all. She needs it all.

Really, God? That is how you bless us? I give up on my dream of a husband and family and you take away the availability of my existing family as well? My parents follow you faithfully and finally catch a break by selling their home and you can’t even allow them a full week of peace before snatching it all away? They let go of their dream of a happy, peaceful retirement and now struggle with more mouths to feed than they can afford and the ever-changing actions of an addict.*

To say the least, I’ve been pissed. Until a week or so ago, God and I only spoke in the presence of God’s children, like the dysfunctional marriage I may never have. Yes, I’ll pray when I need to lead others in prayer, but when it comes to my one on one time, fuck you. You are not faithful.

*I am fully aware that an outsider can read this differently: God gave my parents a bit of extra money just in time for my sister's big need. God is preparing my heart for blahblahblahblahblah. Screw you, people who see this a different way. It sucks.