Annal 58: Tale from the Falling Books

My amazing friends had a going-away party for me tonight and it was spectacular.  They chose a literary theme for it, and so as I walked up the stairs to my friend's apartment there were quotes from favourite authors and novels lining the walls.  We played literary charades, matched quotes with their novels, I re-enacted the ending of Emma, and had a wonderful time.  Each friend brought a book they had enjoyed and gave it to me (meaning my library has now wonderfully increased).  Truly it was an exquisite evening.

The apartment was decorated with hanging books.

The books then attacked me.

One of the highlights of the evening?  The wedding card one friend included with her book.

Can I really argue with a picture of Lizzie and Darcy where my face is photo-shopped in?  Does it get much better than that? 

Okay, I'm sure it does.  For example, should I actually have my own wedding picture where my face has not been photo-shopped in would truly be a glorious thing!  Until such a time as God deems me ready, however, I shall cherish this image... and possibly keep it on my nightstand!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 57: Tale from Maher-shalal-hash-baz

This week has felt like a mish-mash of occurrences that lend themselves to either reasons why I am single, or funny stories about being single.  My memories are all a blur so I shall simply record them as they come to me.

First of all, I went to pick my cousin up from the airport on Saturday and on the way home took pictures with the gigantic beaver.

Did I mention that I have named this beaver?  His name is Maher-shalal-hash-baz... but I call him Murray for short.  Yeah... sort of screams cool, doesn't it?

A few nights ago I was at a movie night.  What happens when you get two pregnant women, two women with older children, and two single women in a room watching Persuasion?  A discussion on torn petticoats, perfect kisses, and the view Christians sometimes have that if you are not married and don't have children by the age 27 then you are doomed (this may have arisen from the fact that the other single woman turns 27 in two months time).  I also recall being kicked as the other women started on North and South and one pregnant friend stated, "You missed Thornton's stare!"

On top of my hopeless romantic gift for my birthday, I also received nerdy gifts, like a Star Wars poster and Final Fantasy VII for the Playstation.  I was also given a book entitled Real Sex which is supposed to be a Christian relationship book that is actually good (hmmm... somebody hinting at something?).

On a slightly more serious note, I also received a collection by C.S. Lewis for my birthday and just finished A Grief Observed which he wrote following the death of his wife.  Here is an excerpt from chapter three:

You can't see anything properly while your eyes are blurred with tears. you can't, in most things, get what you want if you want it too desperately: anyway, you can't get the best out of it.

The time when there is nothing at all in your soul except a cry for help may be just the time when God can't give it: you are like the drowning man who can't be helped because he clutches and grabs. Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear.

On the other hand, "Knock and it shall be opened." But does knocking mean hammering and kicking the door like a maniac? And there's also "To him that hath shall be given." After all, you must have a capacity to receive, or even omnipotence can't give. Perhaps your own passion temporarily destroys the capacity.

This caused me to wonder how this could pertain to singleness.  I wonder if singles are sometimes so filled up with the idea of 'getting someone' or, on the opposite hand, of being single, that they have no capacity to receive when God wishes to give.  Not just in the idea of God giving them a spouse.  But is a single person who wants so desperately to be married leaving any room in their life for God to give them peace while they wait?

So, these are just some random thoughts and musings from the last week.  If they do not make sense, that is okay--my brain is feeling somewhat mushy right now from late nights and early awakenings (our roof is being done... nothing like hammering above your window in the morning to shock you out of bed!).

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 56: Tale from Plato's Cave

Yesterday morning I was working the early shift at the deli (in case you haven't noticed, I work that shift a lot) and I was putting away our freight order.  This led to the obvious thought procession wherein I began to compare the events of the morning to the theories of Plato I had studied in a Theory course last year.  Here is was I discovered:

My foot is not THE Foot.  My foot is only a representation of that ideal Foot.  The six-wheeler I was using to put away my freight was not THE Six-Wheeler, it was simply an image.  Thus the pain I felt when I crashed my six-wheeler into my foot was not Pain, but a shadow of it.

I then came to the conclusion that Plato never worked in a deli.

Perhaps a little odd but it is musings like this that help me maintain what little sanity I have left.  It works.

I think it is safe to say this another reason I am still single :)

This thought process then led to a different thought process.  I started thinking about representations of God's love, and of the relationship He desires with us.  I thought of Paul's use of the marriage metaphor. 

So instead of commenting, I would like to hear what other people have to say.  How does marriage as we know and experience it work as an image for God's love for us and the love we should have for Him?  How do singles who have never been married follow such a metaphor?

Please, post your thoughts!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 55: Tale from my Birthday

My oldest brother and his family came to visit us for the last week, and as such, rooms have been rearranged and I find myself sleeping on our rather comfortable couch.  As my youngest sister headed off to bed last night she looked at me and said, "Don't worry, your protector is looking out for you."

She was referring to the birthday card resting on top of our piano with an image or a rather intense-looking Thornton on the front.  I  had to laugh; he did look like he was scoping out the room, ready to defend me at the slightest provocation.

It was my birthday yesterday, and my gift from my single friend seems to be the culmination of so many of my various blog entries that I felt I must share.  The card is all-Thornton.  His picture is on the front and inside, with his line "You're coming home with me?" written across the inside.  She bestowed upon me a novel entitled A Hopeless Romantic.  I feel as if this should be somewhat self-explanatory.  I'm a hopeless romantic, the heroine is a hopeless romantic--it just seems to fit.  She then created two magnets for me; one has a picture of Knightley and his "Men of sense do not want silly wives" quotation (it was this line that gave me hope that perhaps one day I will actually find a man who will, indeed, want me) and the other has a picture of Rochester (2007 BBC version) with a section of one of his most stirring speeches.  Lastly, I received two mugs from her.  One has a picture of Knightley with one of the most romantic quotations ever: "I cannot make speeches... if I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more."  On the reverse side of the cup it states "I Love Knightley."  The other one I am currently drinking my morning coffee out of.  On the back it says "I Love Rochester" and on the front there is an  image of him and his line "Get away from me, Witch." 

I feel the need to pause for a moment.

...

Terribly sorry but with so many intense stares, and heart-wrenching lines, I find myself having trouble catching my breath.  Perhaps drinking from my Rochester mug will assist my breathing.

...

Nope, it did not help ;)

All melodrama aside I had a wonderful birthday day.  Two of my dear friends came to visit, it was one of the nicest days of the summer, and I am still scratching some of my hives from where I got a little too much sun (yeah, nice romantic image, isn't it?).

What I found interesting is that this birthday filled me with hope.  I do not despair of growing another year older but instead grow excited for what this coming year may hold.  Who knows what adventures God will orchestrate this year, what friendships He will help me to develop, what truths He will reveal.  I find myself looking forward in eager anticipation.  Who am I to place a limit of God and what He is capable of doing and revealing?  This last year turned out nothing like I imagined; it had so many ups and downs, not to mention many a surprising detour due to the washing out of other routes.  But I don't regret it.  Rather, I am seeing how He has used all of it to reveal Himself and to help shape me into what I hope is the woman that He wants me to be.  I look forward to seeing what happens this year (I give you all permission to remind me of this when I am complaining in a month's time about whatever 'horrid' thing I feel is taking place).

Before I sign off I want to leave you with a quote from my dear friend, Rochester, not because of its depth but because I hope it stops the occasional heart like it does mine :D

"It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame."

Sigh.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 54: Tale from the Graveyard

There is something incredibly romantic about graveyards.  When my one sister and I went to Ireland four years ago I had a fascination with looking at gravestones and walking among the remnants of those who lived before me. 

There is something incredibly unromantic about working a graveyard shift in a deli.  Especially when your workplace is so classy that the night crew's idea of witty humor is watching you pull a six-wheeler loaded with produce (broccoli, carrots, pineapple, cantalope, etc), and then remarking to you, "Nice melons."

Yeah.

Classy, I know.

I did not work the graveyard last night, but I was at work bright and early.  I am, however, working that shift tonight.  We have orders for 29 trays for tomorrow and so that is to be my job.  For the most part I don't mind this.  I get to work alone, can plug in my ipod, listen to some music and podcasts, and just disappear into my imagination.

The sad part about these shifts is perhaps their affect on any attractability I may possess.  For a case in point, I will tell you about yesterday's shift.

I was supposed to start work at four-thirty in the morning.  I awoke, my eyes opened, and it was light out.  I knew instantly that something was wrong.  My phone, which also serves as my alarm clock, apparently powered off in the night.  It was 5:27.  I was wee bit late for work.  The one bonus of this?  I became the closest thing to a superhero that I have ever been.  I recall being upstairs, and then all of a sudden I was in the laundry room, which was downstairs, grabbing my uniform.  I have no recollection of taking the stairs down, or up again.  I was just there. So I either flew, or else I teleported.  Adrenaline had nothing to do with it, I'm sure :)  I somehow managed to make it to work by 5:38.  I figure eleven minutes to get up and get ready and clock in is relatively impressive.  Of course, this impressiveness fails to contribute to one's attractiveness.  I went make-upless for the first five hours of my shift.  Some people can do that and look beautiful.  Me?  I somewhat resemble a zombie.  My eyes even take on a glazed look which lends itself beautifully to convincing one they are a member of the undead. 

I have yet to meet a man who finds zombies attractive.

And so to combat this ever happening again, I have a night like last night.  This means that I barely sleep.  The result is that adrenaline... I mean my super hero abilities, kick in, but the result is usually that deeply shadowed, pale looking face. 

The great question of my day?  How is a zombie supposed to find true love?  Why do the great novelists of our day and days long passed not delve into such an issue?  What is a girl with a fascination of graveyards and a resemblance to the undead supposed to do?

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 53: Tale from a Lack of Clothes Hangers

This week has been a week (shocking, I know).  It is not that anything has gone wrong or I have had great tragedy strike, it has simply been a tough week.  I can't even put my finger on what caused it.  So I'm going to be somewhat open, and if you don't want that, feel free to stop reading (I'll never know ;) ).

I deal with my own set of insecurities.  I can hear the great intake of breath as you all gasp in shock, but it is true.  Two years ago this fall I left for school and spent a year working out at the gym, walking around campus, and as a result felt incredibly healthy and fit.  It was fantastic.  Then I started teaching last fall and somehow pacing a classroom or sitting at a desk just didn't have the same impact on my activity level.  I tried to keep up with my exercising but the result was a seemingly screwed up metabolism and some weight gain.  I have always felt insecure about my appearance, especially when growing up I was surrounded by close friends who were just plain beautiful.  I always compared myself and I always fell short.  Since the summer started and I have been working at the deli, I have slowly felt myself getting back to where I used to be.  I feel healthy.  The weather has been nice enough that I have been able to run outside several times a week and I am just loving it. 

Despite feeling like my body is getting back to normal, I still had a rough week.

I laugh at my quirks and I know they are a part of me and I embrace them.  But every once in a while I hit a point where I wonder: God, am I just too odd?  Should I change myself?  Maybe I should find hobbies that are a little more acceptable?  At times I feel like I just don't belong.

Now I know this is just an attack of insecurities.  My closest friends and my family love me not just despite, but because of, by quirkiness.  I am surrounded now by people who take me as I am and accept that--they have no desire to change me.  I don't have to give up gaming, or card  making, or BBC movie-watching in order to belong. 

So why the tough week?

I don't know.  All I know is that I felt down, and just when I would seem to get past it, something would happen that would cause me to topple back over the edge.

My work schedule was somewhat crazy and I am sorry to say that as a result my devotions took a back seat.  So last night, after erupting into tears because my sister asked for her clothes hangers back (can't even blame PMS), I sat down with my Bible and read.  I read Psalm 92:1-2 and it said: "It is good to give thanks to the Lord, to sing praises to Your name, O Most High; to declare Your steadfast love in the morning, and Your faithfulness by night."

This might not seem to have anything to do with my insecurities, but it did.  It caused me to take my eyes off of myself and place them on the One who truly matters.  Instead of waking up and thinking of how awful I look, I need to focus on God and declare His unchanging, steadfast love.  Instead of falling into bed discouraged, I need to focus on how faithful He has been and still is.  I need to remember that my purpose is to glorify Him, and that He is everything.  This doesn't change the fact that I may still feel like crap, but looking away from my circumstances and remembering who He is is the best remedy--the only remedy.  So I went to bed last night listing the ways in which God has been faithful--and I fell asleep wrapped in peace.  I woke up this morning and even though I didn't know what the day would hold, I declared that His love is everlasting and that it never changes. 

Today was a better day.

Then, to top it off, I was researching quotes (because this is what all cool people coming to terms with their quirks do) and came across something by C.S. Lewis that seemed to define me.  Here it is:

Critics who treat adult as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence... When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.

God has created me the way I am.  I would not classify myself as a "big kid" because I'm not, but rather I believe that God has given me the imagination and creative pulse which so define me, and to deny them would be to deny who God created me to be.

Some things to think about.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 52: Tale from the Torrential Downpour

You know how in the movies, or a novel, there is that scene where the couple is forced to admit their feelings for one another amidst the onslaught of rushing rain, with lightning occasionally lighting the sky and allowing you to see (or read) the emotions across their faces?  I blame my love of rainy weather on such scenes.  I blame my romantic viewing of torrential downpours on such scenes.  I was at my town's Fall Fair last night and I had my own encounter with such a scene.

My very pregnant friend and I were eating dinner at one of the food booths when other friends joined us.  The sky grew dark rather quickly, rain began to fall, thunder roared, and I was pointing out the lightning to the four year old boy who kept asking me where the thunder and lightning were.  My pregnant friend and I figured that if we wanted the fair's infamous mini donuts, we should probably leave then before it started to rain harder.  So we left the cover of the booth and went in search of mini donuts.

The rain picked up.

We finally made it to the booth and were relieved to see a rather short line-up.  Sadly, those in front of us did not seem interested in allowing us to huddle with them under the overhang.  My friend and I were in the street.

The rain picked up even more.

The woman serving the mini donuts decided to place each one individually into the bags instead of trying to grab handfuls.

The rain was now coming down in sheets.

Eventually we made it to the booth, got our package of warm, cinnamon and sugar covered donuts, shoved it in my purse, and began to head back to where our friends were waiting.  We walked, as my friend informed me that running in the rain only causes one to get wetter.

The rain was now verging on monsoon levels.

We finally made it back to the booth and to be honest, the last think I felt was romantic.  My clothes were soaked through, my pants caked in mud from about the knees down, my hair was clumped against my head, and I would not be surprised if I had dark shadows under my eyes from running make-up.

How is it that men in movies and books always seem to want to profess their undying love to the woman when she is rain-drenched?  How does that work?  I can be honest, the last thing any man would have wanted to do to me last night was pledge eternal affection.

So what did I do to comfort myself with the realization that I will probably never have my romantic rain scene?  I returned to my pregnant friend's house, watched a chick flick with her and another friend, drank Candy Cane Lane tea, wore my incredibly cool "Nerd Machine" t-shirt, and cuddled with my friend's two wiener dogs (no cats).  Oh, and I wore fuzzy Christmas socks in an attempt to return feeling to my now numb-with-cold body.

Yeah, that's me, the image of female perfection right there.  Hmm... and I wonder why I don't get to have a romantic rain scene?

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 51: Tale from the Flying Lamb

I should have known when the lamb came flying that the cleanness of my clothing would be endangered.  I should have known... yet I did nothing.  So when my chai tea erupted all over the table, my chair, and my lap, I had no one to blame but myself.  And so I laughed.  I mopped myself up and I laughed.  Besides, the 21 month old who was behind the flying lamb was smiling so wide and giggling that how could I do anything but the same?

I went for coffee with friends this afternoon.  This is the same friend whose baby shower I attended earlier this week, so her and her husband came with their son and daughter.  Watching their son sparked the conversation on what men think.  This little boy took my keys, his parents' keys, his lamb, even his juice box, and turned them all into weapons--swords specifically.  He made sound effects, he slashed, he dashed, he paused to look at my shiny ring, and then he resumed slashing.  I began to wonder about what goes on in the minds of children and the following conversation ensued.

Me: "Man, I would love to know what kids are thinking at that age when they play."

Friend's Husband (but also my friend... confusing I know): "That's easy in his case.  'Destruction' is what he is thinking.  That and 'I am the hero and I am going to save the day.'"

Little Boy: "Ahhhh!"  His father loses his arm from a bunny ear gash.

Friend's Husband: "Girls are another story.  Any men who have ever understood them have died."

Me: "Really?  So that's why there are so many young deaths?"

Friend's Husband: "Exactly.  They were too smart for their own good and it killed them."

After this the boy contined to plug his ears, make monkey faces, dice me into millions of pieces, throw both of  his soothers on the floor and laugh about it, and spill his juice, my tea, and some hot chocolate on the table.  He did this all to the delight of the three adults around the table.  His sister simply slept, content to be held by her mother.

My lesson for the day then was that boys think of destruction and being heroes (or just destroying everything), and girls simply want to be cuddled.  And I learned that should the general male populace ever come to understand the mind of the female populace, it would result in an apocalypse that may lead to a zombie take-over.  Okay, I added the part about the zombies, but chances are it would happen.

So ladies, don't ever complain that men don't understand you--if they did, they would die.  Go figure.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 50: Tale from the Deli Scale

I came to a conclusion today: working in a deli is like a metaphor for my life in all of its singleness.  You see, I came into work this morning and the very first thing I was to do was whip up four trays.  I set to this with reckless abandon, and received multiple compliments on how my trays turned out.  I took pride in this and may have patted myself on the back.  When the customers who ordered these trays showed up, I proceeded to carry them out of the cooler, shutting the door with my foot, which apparently impressed a co-worker.  Needless to say, I was feeling quite good about myself and my abilities.  Sigh... what is that proverb about pride?

While pricing chickens, my scale decided to stop working and wouldn't print out tickets for me.  I remained quite calm but by my tenth time taking it apart (no exaggeration there) I was frustrated.  I may have raised my voice at said scale (yes, I always yell at inanimate objects) and then slammed the scale shut.  One poor co-worker looked at me, and then removed herself from the back, thinking perhaps it was better to leave me to my insanity.  A little while later I was placing frozen chicken legs on a baking sheet but couldn't break them apart.  My course of action?  Slamming the frozen legs against the tray until they broke apart.  More co-workers came into the back to check on me, their faces a mixture of humor, caution, and downright fear.

Do you ever have moments where you think to yourself Hey, I'm a pretty decent catch?  Look at what I have going for me?  Then it seems like not even a moment later you realize that there is indeed a reason you single?  I can make a mean fruit tray.  I can close doors that seem impossible to close using my posterior end.  But then that image is ruined when I yell at a scale and slam frozen chicken legs against a counter.  Or when I rewrite the Christmas carols that play over the radio so that they suit the deli.  When such a moment hits, the lights switch on and I remember, there are reasons why I am single.  While one co-worker was kind enough to tell me this is because of where I live and not who I am, I know the truth. 

I am odd.

And that's okay.

For whatever reason God created me with a rather distinct personality, one that lends itself to random outburts of dancing and singing, or the slamming of frozen poultry.  I don't know why He didn't make me with a less quirky personality, but He didn't, and I am learning to deal with that. 

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 49: Tale from the Black Ops Baby Shower

I'm a spy, by the way, or so I told my students last year.  Of course, I also informed them I am an elf, that I originally injured my elbow in Vietnam, but then hurt it again during my stint as a firefighter, and that Saint Patrick was born just a few years before me, was my pastor, and that we were tight.  So I will leave it up to you to believe whatever you will! 

I mention being a spy because those are skills which seemed like they were going to become a very integral part to my survival in a small community and small church where everyone gets married shortly after twenty.  I have been to a fair number of wedding showers, lingerie showers, and even bachelorette get-togethers.  I enjoy them; it is a wonderful opportunity to celebrate such a monumental time in a woman's life.  But no matter how happy you are for someone, wedding showers do begin to get a single woman down.  One can only handle smiling and celebrating another woman's marriage for so long.  Especially since one does not get younger, and so the sideways glances abound as grow older and remain single.  This is why I will not get a cat while I am still unmarried... I think that would be the last straw!  I was beginning to think that I would have to turn all wedding showers into covert operations: cut a hole in the ceiling, lower myself down, drop off my present, grab one of the many yummy appetizers, and then pull myself back up, replace the hole in the ceiling, and then go drown out my sorrows with either a BBC drama or some gaming.

I was at a baby shower last night for one of my best friends as she celebrated the birth of her second child and first girl when the realization hit me.  I haven't had to brush up on my spy abilities in a while because I haven't been to a wedding shower in a long time.  Apparently there are officially almost no single women left in this town to get married, and as such, no bridal showers.  Very interesting.

That being said, I think baby showers may become the new thing.  I have noticed that all of my friends are  now growing their families with rather adorable little additions.  This is okay.  My family has fostered since I was in grade three, so we have always had babies and little kids in the family.  Thus, I can tell stories with the best of them, causing most women who don't know me to just assume that I'm a fellow comrade-in-arms.  I realized last night that I am lacking in some areas of knowledge.  While I can tell diaper-changing stories, and talk about puking children or sleepless nights (experienced by my mother, not me), I'm afraid that I have no experience to draw from with regards to birthing, c-sections, pregnancy, and morning sickness beyond that of being a friend or family member present shortly after a birth.  Indeed, when it comes to such topics, I find myself inept to come up with anything.

At least I was not the only single woman there--my sixteen year old sister came with me!

All of that being said, I loved being there last night, and I definitely spent a good deal of the time cuddling the little girl for whom I am a self-proclaimed fairy godmother.  I am so happy that God has blessed my friend with such a precious child, and I know that I feel blessed to know such a gift.  God sure knew what He was doing when he created the treasures He has blessed my friends with!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 48: Tale from Insane Sanctification

It seems that I start every Sunday blog I write talking about a run with my dad, so why should today be any different?  I did go for another run and this was actually my longest run ever.  I managed to go a full seven kilometres without having to stop.  I may have considered vomiting, my lungs may have exploded, and I may have stopped feeling my legs for the last kilometre or so, but I made it!  Sadly, my father and I were unable to have any deep conversations this time as both of us were a little too focused on making sure we were still alive and breathing!

Just before we got home our beautiful, mildly dopey, and incredibly timid Boxer ran up to us.  His leash was trailing behind him.  My mom had taken him for a walk while we were running and it appeared that he had gotten away from her.  I ran the rest of the way home while my dad took our dog and went the other direction, thinking he would meet up with my mom.  Five minutes later he showed up at the house, dropped the dog off, and both of us were in my car driving.  We couldn't find my mom.

Dad ran the trail she had been walking on, while I walked around yelling her name.  Eventually I met up with a woman who was calling our dog's name.  She informed me that my mom and our dog had been attacked by two pitbulls on their walk and that my mom was currently at the hospital.  Dad and I headed over there and discovered that my mom's hands had been bitten.  She had to get several stitches.  We ended up having to take our dog to the vet as well, as he wasn't looking too good.

Shortly after getting home, my mom remarked, "Hmm... I get fired, I get attacked by pitbulls... maybe I'm walking in sin or something."  I let out somewhat of a chuckle at this comment as my family tends to poke fun at the "prosperity gospel," and this seemed to be an attempt at humor on her end.

I mentioned in another entry that I am reading Dug Down Deep by Joshua Harris.  After all of our running around this morning I was able to sit for a moment outside and read.  The chapter I'm on has to do with the Doctrine of Sanctification.  Harris quotes Wayne Grudem who says that sanctification is "the progressive work of God and man that makes us more and more free from sin and like Christ in our actual lives."  This then got me thinking.

Crap happens.  Sometimes it can be as a result of our own poor, sinful choices, and sometimes it can just happen.  My mother was not sinning when she decided to take the dog for a walk this morning.  She just wanted to go for a walk.  She wasn't sinning when she was fired, it was simply the way events went.  Regardless of why this crap happens, it can be used throughout this whole process of sanctification.  God can take these events, and through them make us more and more like Him in our actual, day-to-day lives.

How does any of this pertain to being single?  How many times have you wondered why you aren't married?  How many times have you wondered what is wrong with you that God has not yet brought someone into your life?  We have a choice.  We can allow this period of life to drag us down and dishearten us, or we can allow God to use it to change us. 

I don't know how I got from a run, to a pitbull attack, to singledom, to sanctification, but it happened.  As Christians we are all called to this process of sanctification; we are all called to be more like Jesus.  And so instead of wallowing in being single and whatever events have caused us to be in the state, we need to take the opportunity to turn to Christ, and to work with Him as He changes us.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 47: Tale from a Tuesday Morning

When my alarm went off at three-thirty this morning the last action I wanted to complete was crawling out of bed to get prepare for work.  But it was my last early morning shift of four, and the next day was to be a day off so I emerged from my coccoon... resembling nothing at all similar to a butterfly... I don't even think I would have passed for a caterpillar.  I think zombie might be more accurate.

After getting ready I opened the living room curtains, sat on the couch and simply took in the view.  The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was lightening, creating a beautiful backdrop of multiple shades of blue for the silhouettes of trees and homes to rest upon.  How could I not smile?  It brings to mind Psalm 19:1 where it says "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the works of His hands."  Such a view causes me to think of my Creator as the Divine Artist.

That sort of view reminds me of the moments when you are walking outside and a breeze begins to stir.  That stirring then caresses the face and plays with the hair.  When you think about it, it's really quite intimate.  How many women have watched a chick flick and fight a sigh when the hero touches the heroine's face?  Or when he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear?

When I stand in the middle of the street, at the edge of my driveway, or on a trail through the woods, and that wind picks up, I'm reminded of the love God has for me.  He reveals this love through many ways, but one is through moments of natural beauty.  I get the feeling that the wind is actually His hand, that He is playing with my wild mane, or stroking my cheek.  I wonder how many other people were awake when I was driving to work at 4:15 and could witness the sun's drowsy awakening as it slowly lightened the sky.  It was like a gift; a reminder of His love.

Sometimes I despair, but more often than naught my Saviour reminds me of who He is, and of my value in His eyes.

Such is the life of a Christian single.