Annal 77: Tale from a Bus-Driving Frodo

So apparently my sister has decided to join with all of my other friends in the effort to find me a man.  I first noticed this change in her about two or three weeks ago when she texted me one morning to inform me that her bus driver was attractive, and that I should OBVIOUSLY ride with her to the college.  I had to chuckle over this since all of my bus drivers are passed age fifty with heads of white hair... or no hair.  I also chuckled because my sister usually tries to not get involved in the relationship part of my life.  I think she figures that I can either find someone on my own, or else that my friends are trying to take care of it, so she doesn't need to.

The point is, she and I were waiting at our bus stop this morning, when the bus pulled up (shocking, I know).  And the driver was not a fifty-something gentleman with a full head of white hair.  He was Frodo, minus the curls.  And just as friendly too.

My sister was quite happy about this, and informed me that I really should write a blog entry about it, and then informed me that I had her permission to marry the bus driver.  I think she just wants her nieces and nephews to look like hobbits.

All in all the whole situation just leaves me smiling.  I would be the single woman who people would try to hook up with bus drivers.  Although I suppose if I had the summer of police officers thanks to the deli workers, it would make sense to have a semester of bus drivers.

But mostly I think I feel loved.  I have friends and family who care about me so much that they just want me to be happy.  They don't think I'm incomplete without someone, or that my life is meaningless because I'm single, they simly love me and want me to find someone else who loves me too.

It's nice to feel loved.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 76: Tale from the Tree

I live in a city surrounded by mountains and forests, and so throw autumn colours into the mix and I am sure you can imagine how beautiful it is this time of year.  On my journey home from the university I have two favourite views.

The first one is while driving.  About three minutes before I would pull into my driveway, or one minute before my bus would pull up to the stop, you travel down this hill.  As you are going down it, the trees clear away from in front of you and you see the baseball diamonds by one of the local high schools.  Beyond those diamonds you see more trees with homes interspersed among them, and mountains in the distance.  Words will never explain what this view does to me.  I don't even know if it is the view itself, so much as the emotions it stirs up.  Every time I drive this, I feel like the heroine in a movie who returns to her small hometown under duress.  Which is bizarre since I live in a city, it is not my hometown, and for the most part I do not feel like I am under duress.  Yet in the movies the heroine coming home usually does so because she is hoping her life will come together. 

I suppose hope is the feeling this image stirs in me.  I don't know why, but every time I see it something catches in my throat, and for a brief moment I hear a whisper that says, "It's going to be okay."

The next view is from the tree that stands in our front yard.  A perk about living in a tree-filled community is that there are leaves EVERYWHERE!  I just got back from a run through the neighborhood and I am fairly certain leaves were carpetting my path.  The thing with this specific tree, though, is that I came back from Thanksgiving to discover that the yellow leaves were not all falling off, but were rather turning to the most brilliant red hue.  It looks as if the tree is sunburned in a way, with yellow fading into orange and then red.  It is breath-taking.

Again, my descriptions do not do justice, and perhaps one day I will take pictures to share them with you guys.  I suppose the significance is that these are two moments that I witness every day that leave me breathless.

My last post about the guy holding the door to Starbucks open for me got me thinking.  How many times does God reveal parts of Himself to us in a day?  How often do we see His signature but not take notice of it?

I'm single, and I can't say as that I have anyone rushing to prove their undying affection for me.  But I have a God who at least twice a day causes my heart to skip a beat as He gives me views that speak to my soul's secret signature.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 65: Tale from the Soul's Secret Signature

So I am obviously still on my C.S. Lewis kick because he is the inspiration for tonight's blog post.  I am currently sitting cross-legged on my couch cooling off from doing a Jillian Michael's workout.  You want to sweat in the comfort of your home?  Yeah, she will make you do that, that's for sure.  The point is, I pulled out my computer, opened up a new post, and pondered what to write.  A quotation from The Problem of Pain kept coming to me, and I hope it inspires you the same way it did me.  It is in the final chapter of the book and the chapter is entitled "Heaven."  It is a lengthy passage, but bear with me, it is worth it, I promise.

"There have been times when I think we do not desire heaven; but more often I find myself wondering whether, in our heart of hearts, we have ever desired anything else.  You may have noticed that the books you really love are bound together by a secret thread.  You know very well what is the common quality that makes you love them, though you cannot put it into words: but most of your friends do not see it at all, and often wonder why, liking this, you should also like that.  Again, you have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw--but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realize that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which we are transported.  Even in your hobbies, has there not always been some secret attraction which the others are curiously ignorant of--something, not to be identified with, but always on the verge of breaking through, the smell of cut wood in the workshop or the clap-clap of water against the boat's side?  Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain at best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for?  You have never had it.  All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it--tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that die away just as they caught your ear.  But if it should really become manifest--if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself--you would know it.  Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say 'Here at last is the thing I was made for.'  We cannot tell each other about it.  It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want, the thing we desired before we met our wives [or husbands] or made our friends or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife [or husband] or friend or work... Your place in heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, because you were made for it--made for it stitch by stitch as a glove made for a hand."

I know that's a lot to digest.  But I also know that it spoke directly to my soul.

How often do I rant about my quirks and wonder why God made me so odd?  Why is it that waiting for the bus on a misty morning stirs my soul?  Why does the sound of rustling leaves seem to be the trees calling for me to join them in their dance?  Why is it that I like BBC dramas, literature, video games, fantasy, and science fiction when at times there appears to be no line to connect them?

I love the idea of a secret signature of the soul.  Suddenly my oddities no longer seem so odd, but rather are what make my soul unique.  I was made this way "stitch by stitch" because I was made for my place in heaven.

So please don't ever become discouraged with what appear to be your own quirks.  Don't try to hide them or get rid of them, or pretend they don't exist because others don't understand them.  They are part of the secret signature of your soul, and were stitched there by a God who loves you more than any other person will ever be remotely capable of loving you.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 64: Tale from the Odious Selfishness of Mankind

So for my Victorian Literature class one of the novels I read is by Wilkie Collins and is entitled The Woman in White.  It is a true, Gothic novel, and I was rather engrossed while reading it last night when I came across a quote that just seemed to me the post perfect ever.  And so I wanted to share it all with you.

Mr. Fairlie, a self-diagnosed sick man who keeps to his room and despises being depended upon has just been asked to be depended on.  His response?

"Nothing, in my opinion, sets the odious selfishness of mankind in such a repulsively vivid light, as the treatment, in all classes of society, which the Single people receive at the hands of the Married people... Husbands and wives talk of the cares of matrimony; and bachelors and spinsters bear them.... I am bound, in the harmless character of a single man, to relieve my married connexions of all their own troubles.  Poor single people!  Poor human nature!"

That first sentence was really what did me in.  My poor sister had to put up with me laughing throughout the night.  Although even she agreed that there was truth behind these statements.

What I find interesting is how little things change.  This novel is from the Victorian era and now 150 years later some of those same thoughts still exist.  Single people, especially in church settings, can still be treated like the outcasts of Christian society.  Why?  What is so wrong with us that married people will often abandon us at the drop of a hat?

All that being said, I thank God for the close friendships with my married friends that He has given me.  I have friends who still value my friendship despite my "position" in life (now I sound like I have been reading too much Austen).  He has truly blessed me in that capacity.

Well, this is a shorter post, I moreso just wanted to share those few lines with you all as they worked well to brighten my evening!  Anthropology is calling me now, and I must immerse myself in the foundations of Archaeology!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 62: Tale from Monster in the Basement

Blast you, Christian Victorian romance novels I read as a child!!!! 

Okay, I feel somewhat better now that I have gotten that out of my system. 

I am taking a Victorian Literature course this semester, and yesterday was the lecture where we are given an introduction to life in Victorian England, specifically gender roles as that is what the course will be dealing with.  Growing up I read Christian romances from just about every era, but I always wanted to live among the Victorians.  Beautiful gowns, balls, walks through gardens, afternoon teas... does it not sound simply delicious?  Alas, my bubble was burst last night.

Did you know that Victorian women were supposed to fit the idea of the "Angel in the House"?  They were supposed to never leave the home, but also do nothing productive beyond sewing, embroidering, and some reading.  Too much reading of intellectual works would render you too intelligent, while too much reading of scandalous works would leave you open to the temptations of the world.  You didn't cook or take care of your own children, and you never left the house unaccompanied.  In fact, you didn't even own a key to your own house.  When you did receive visitors, they were only allowed to stay for fifteen minutes, and you must never discuss anything controversial or philosophical.  All must be perfectly shallow.  Your job was to symbolize all that is pure and to remain untainted by the world.  This was because your husband was the provider.  In order to prove himself a true, Victorian male, he had to be able to go out in the world, live tainted by it, and provide for his family.  He needed his wife to remain pure so that she would anchor him to all that was good.

I don't think I would make a very good Victorian woman.  I like children (hence teaching), I enjoy baking and cooking (when mine and my sister's somewhat limited resources allow for it), and I definitely enjoy having a key to our home so that I can take off whenever I want.  I cross-stitch, but that is the extent of my sewing, and think I would go absolutely batty if I was expected to live my life in complete seclusion.  I have this horrible feeling that I would become the "Monster in the Basement" which Victorian society lived in such fear of.  This would be a woman that no one knew what to do with.

All this being said, it is probably a good thing I don't fit the Victorian ideal as I really wouldn't want to marry the ideal Victorian man either.  You know the saying "stiff upper lip"?  Yeah, that pretty much summarizes how men were supposed to live.  They were to show no emotion but to always portray a face of pure calm.  Nothing was to faze them.  Words and expression are somewhat important to me (I keep a blog... I figure this makes sense).  I have a really hard time if I don't know what another person is thinking, especially if I can tell that they are feeling off.  Stoicism doesn't really do it for me; I can't say as I find it very attractive.  Communicators?  Yeah, that's hot (at least for me).To be with someone who never talked, who never shared what was going on in their mind and their heart would drive me insane. 

Did I mention that insanity is another characteristic of women who would have been seen as monsters?

The moral of this tale?  Some Christian writers, especially those who do historical fiction, really need to make sure they research more than just clothing styles and the odd social custom when writing books.  Otherwise you have have girls, like me, who grow up engrossed in this romantic ideal that never fully existed.  So while my view of Victorian England has crumbled around me, at least I have realized that it was a good thing I never lived then, as I would have never belonged.

Side note:  there is a street near my home called Rochester Crescent.  Coincidence?  I think not!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 61: Tale from my Buddy Clive

Oi.

Sometimes I like to pretend that I am more British than my several generations removed allow.  When such an urge comes upon me, I like to use words such as "Oi."  That being said, I also like to say "Huzzah" when cheering.  I suppose this means I am simply odd.

The reason for the "Oi" was simply my way of describing this passed week.  It has gone well, and I think I will enjoy my courses, but it has still been a week.  That being said, I think the tangent about being British will work as a nice little path as I discuss hanging out with a good friend of mine.  His name is Clive, though I prefer to call him Jack, but you may know him as C.S. Lewis.

For my birthday my cousin gave me a collection of Lewis' works as I have always wanted to read his writings.  I grew up on The Chronicles of Narnia and loved any quotations of his I read.  So I have spent the last... two weeks or so engrossed in this collection.  I am currently reading The Problem of Pain and last night had somewhat of a revelation.  I want to share with you a passage from it.  He is talking about suffering experienced by "good" people.

"Let me implore the reader to try to believe, if only for the moment, that God, who made these deserving people, may really be right when He thinks that their modest prosperity and the happiness of their children are not enough to make them blessed: that all this must fall from them in the end, and that if they have not learned to know Him they will be wretched.  And therefore He troubles them, warning them in advance of an insufficiency that one day they will have to discover... I call this Divine humility because it is a poor thing to strike our colours to God when the ship is going down under us; a poor thing to come to Him as a last resort, to offer up 'our own' when it is no longer worth keeping.  If God were proud He would hardly have us on such terms: but He is not proud, He stoops to conquer.  He will have us even though we have shown that we prefer everything else to Him, and come to Him because there is 'nothing better' now to be had."

I was floored upon reading this.  Especially considering how it tied into another quotation a friend shared with me, from George Macdonald.  It says:

"My fit wages may be pain, sorrow, humiliation of soul: I stretch out my hands to receive them. Thy reward will be to lift me out of the mire of self-love, and bring me nearer to thyself and thy children: welcome, divinest of good things!"

I am fairly certain God has been trying to tell me something.

Last night I crawled into bed and couldn't fall asleep right away.  So I started praying.  I had already had one breakdown on God earlier in the day (I blame the stress of school), and while this was not a breakdown, it was the culmination of several weeks (perhaps even months) and thoughts and feelings.  I began to hand everything over to God.  My hopes, my dreams, my fears, my expectations... everything.  I handed over the things I was scared to hand over. 

I don't want to only turn to God when my life is in shambles.  I have been in that place before, and while He got me through it, I want to walk with Him in the good and not just the bad.  Whatever He has for me, even if it be pain or sorrow, I want to accept it because He knows that the things I hold onto will not be enough for me.  He knows that He is the only one who can satisfy. 

Sometimes I lose sight of this. 

Often times I lose sight of this.

My life is not my own.

While I think this lesson is important for everyone, I think that as singles it is especially so.  Especially as Christian singles.  Sometimes we lose hope.  People tell us to pray, to "just be content with God and then He'll bring you your special someone," and that "you are amazing; God will bring that person soon."  But for often than naught those words and phrases ring hollow.

Lord, remind me of Your truth.  That the things I place my hope in are not enough to make me blessed, or to make me happy.  Only You can do that, Father.

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 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 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 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 20: Tale from the Pacifier

Sometimes when I envision myself I see not what I look like, but more of a feminine version of Vin Diesel in his role in The Pacifier.  I feed kids, bath kids, and get tackled by kids.  And when the kidlets are tucked into bed I blow on my fingers as if I'm blowing on guns.  There's a reason why I tell my students I'm a super hero.

One thing babysitting is good for is making you forget that some of the reasons you are single are as dorky as they are.  Suddenly, being able to contort my face is cool and causes children of all ages to emit giggles.  Singing Christmas carols in the summer?  The coolest thing ever!  Being able to sing "Down by the Bay" with the kids?  Yeah, I'm pretty much an American Idol contestant.  The fact that I spend evenings playing video games?  Kids actually admire that kind of an ability.

So while typically I am reminded constantly of my single status, spending the last few days doing some overnight babysitting has worked wonders for my self-esteem.  Especially when, while cutting pancakes, two little voices tell me, "You look so pretty today."

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 17: Tale from the Movie Theatre

Last night I went to the movies with some friends.  It was opening night of X-Men: First Class and I was pretty excited to watch James McAvoy portray Charles Xavier (strictly because of his acting ability, of course).  I sat down in my seat, married friend on my one side, single friend on my other.  My married friend commented on her husband having gone to the earlier showing of the movie.  A random guy, probably about seventeen, who was sitting in front of me commented on his own marriage.  Our conversation went something along the following:

Him: "I enjoyed my wedding."
Me: "Oh yeah?  Well that's good."
Him: "It was in Vegas.  Went really well.  Happened about four days ago."
Me: "Well, congratulations, you must be very proud."
Him: "I am."

We then proceeded with our own conversations.  Shortly after, he again interjected into our conversation.

Him: "I'm divorced now."
Me: "Oh yeah..."  *I actually misunderstood what he was saying and so only absentmindedly acknowledged him*
Him: "... Think about it..."

So there we have it, I am the object of flirtatious attention from a teenaged boy.  So remember, just when you start to lose hope, there may be a boy almost ten years your junior out there to make you feel just swell.

After this we more or less ignored each other as I was too busy attempting to still my rapidly beating heart at Hugh Jackman's cameo appearance as Wolverine... sigh... give me a man with metal claws, an eyebrow that cocks, and that tough growl...

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 14: Tale from a Distance

There’s an interesting fact that becomes apparent when you are single and most of your friends are not: everyone has decided that it is their job to make you “unsingle.”  If I had a dollar for every time I had a friend say, “I know a guy...” I would seriously never have to work another day in my life.  Of course, my friends only seem to “know guys” who live a fair distance away from where I am currently situated.

Situation One: I have actually met one of the men one friend suggests.  However, he lives several hours away in the neighbouring province and rarely comes to visit.  It’s all swell that he would love to settle down with a “nice, Christian girl” but alas, we have not met in over ten years.

Situation Two: Another friend tells me about an awesome guy she knows and how she thinks we could do well together.  Like situation one, situation two lives a far distance away and does not seem to be planning a trip in this direction any time soon.

Situation Three: The principal at my school actually grew up on a Mennonite colony.  She found out that some men from there were coming to town and had wanted to meet some “nice, Christian girls.”  My phone number was given out, but I was out of town when they came to visit.  My phone has never rung with a call from the colony.  So much for strapping men with a good work ethic.

Situation Four: My dad’s boss found out he has a single daughter close in age to her single son.  He does not live nearby and is not a Christian, so alas, another lost cause.

Situation Five: A woman I met once and talked to for about one hour thinks I’m a “nice, Christian girl” and would do very well with her son.  Apparently I give off good vibes through the course of a one hour visit.

While I greatly appreciate the thought and care my friends give to my relationship status, and the fact that I apparently do not need to look for a guy for myself as everyone else has it under control, just once it might be nice to meet one of these guys, as opposed to be told about their attributes and qualities and having to admire from a great distance.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 8: Tale from the Road Trip

Quite recently, as in the last twenty-four hours, another single friend and I decided to go on a little trip.  We travelled to the nearby shopping centre, spent the night (not at the shopping centre, mind you), and returned home just today.  Discussing the topic of utmost importance, why we are both still single, we comprised a list.  Below is our list.


18 Reasons we are still Single:

1. The ringtone on my cellphone is the theme music from The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past.
2. I can quote most of the lines from The Lord of the Rings and she can quote most of the lines from Pride and Prejudice.
3. We spend more time looking at men from BBC dramas than we do real men.
4. We sing opera while driving.
5. We dance while driving.
6. I may have pre-ordered the Cataclysm expansion for World of Warcraft (in my defense, while I set my alarm so I could start playing it right away at midnight, I decided to sleep through my alarm).
7. We take pictures of ourselves with gigantic statues of beavers.
8. Our ideal image of a man is him walking into a room with his hat strategically placed below one eye.
9. My ideal first encounter with a man would involve him calling me a witch (Jane Eyre reference for anyone confused by this).
10. We go for drives on rainy days so that we can pretend we are in the English countryside.
11. We have to drive an hour and a half to find single, Christian men.
12. We are no longer between the ripe ages of 20 and 22 when most Christian women are supposed to get married.
13. Any female friends who know single men only want to hang out with us when they're looking for a "Girls' Night."
14. Whenever I walk into bright light the first thing I say is: "It burns, Precious," in a raspy voice and she laughs at me and thinks it's hilarious.
15. She can carry on conversations with herself in opera.
16. We talk in our sleep (I'm the deep, philosophical one, though).
17. We spend drives coming up with reasons for why we are single and we have as many as we do.
18. I write a blog discussing the fact that I am single.

So whenever you start to feel down about yourself and where you are, read this list--it's bound to make you feel better.


Such is the life of a Christian single.