dating and singlehood · faith

single serving

“Well I came home, like a stone, and I fell heavy into your arms.
These days of dust which we’ve known will blow away with this new sun,
But I’ll kneel down, wait for now – I’ll kneel down, know my ground.
I will wait, I will wait for you.”
– Marcus Mumford

I am sitting at the big round dining table with its two chairs, in the dark, not a soul in sight. Mumford and Sons is on low, my head just wrapping up a spreadsheet of numbers from my day job where I make a good living and have a proper place and position. Earlier I had made dinner, a mish mosh of leftover chicken, some microwavable Trader Joe’s jasmine rice, and a handful of sugar snap peas. I drink my green tea ginger ale and I look over the list of wedding guests who need places to stay. I want so much for all the cards in my hand to fall into place neatly like the best round of rummy ever.

I haven’t talked to anyone, save a quick email exchange, a couple texts back and forth, and a few comments traded on Facebook, since 630. My neighborhood is quiet and isolated. I feel like I could scream and no one would either hear or care for a split second, like any typical neighborhood really. I have no pets. No real pressing tasks to accomplish at the moment. Pots, pans, dishes all clean. Some laundry to do but nothing I have to have right this moment.

And I sit here in the dark writing this blog and thinking about how my life is about to change forever. Cue significant swell in soundtrack and adequately epic camera angle shift.

Marriage, children, large dog/small pony, more laundry, less silence. Some of you think, “yep been there done that, already wrote this blog post, buckle up.” My boss probably said it best when he was reflecting on how I’ve lived alone for sooooo long (emphasis his) and how set in my ways I am. Not sure he was giving me a vote of confidence or not. I’m betting on not.

Let’s be real, shall we. I am 39. I have lived my adult life alone more than with someone at this point. I cohabitated with 2 significant others both of whom are probably reading this here post. (Hi guys) For the most part, I make an ok roommate. I tend to get lazy about cooking and I definitely have way too much clothing. I kinda hate cleaning bathrooms, but I do ok cleaning up the kitchen mostly because I hate having a cluttered sink and get grossed out by smells from leaving the trash out.

It all begs the question: am I ready for this?

It was a question I asked months ago while driving to Hampton to meet a man who had preached at my church and who I knew had 2 kids and a life in Norfolk. I thought, well I do like Ghent and had ironically thought about moving there years ago.  I also thought about how much I was really willing to give up for someone who may or may not work out? I knew I was at least willing to see what there is to see just by driving to Hampton in the first place and while I knew something of him just by the 2 times he preached and the message exchanges we had in the course of about 24 hours, really what do you know until you are sitting across a table from someone? Well, diagonally, caddy corner, sorta kinda next to but obviously not NEXT TO someone. Not like we do now any way.

It just so happens that we both knew it even after the somewhat stilted conversation and the admittedly awkward goodbye. I think of that goodbye compared to say, oh, last night’s goodbye, and I can’t help but smile at how life develops. You go from dark to light, past to present, no love to the greatest love you have ever known. “This too shall pass” comes to mind – it’s an encouragement to all of us, no matter where you are, that you will not always be there. Choose to not always be there. Move forward, move backward, move over, just move.

I have this picture in my head of where I’ve been – vague memories, specific details, people, places. Some of it makes me laugh. Some of it makes me sick. But now I know beyond a doubt, I’m not any of those places any more. I’ve moved on. I’ve moved up. I’ve had so much help along the way, and I’ve seen the hope of the future. And now I see pictures of where I will be, so many images floating around my head – and I’ve never been more ready for all of it in all my life. And I claim this day, this moment for all time past as all time past and over, and from now on, it is only about where I’m going right now and today…

You come too.

“I shan’t be long – you come too”
from The Pasture by Robert Frost

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