Monthly Archives: July 2013

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07/24/2013

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Fairytale Fallacies

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Know What You Want

She’s nine years old and already boy-crazy, staring after the director’s son as he walks out the door.

“Girl,” I say, shaking my head, “you concern me.”

Her head whips around, blonde hair slapping into her face as she plants her hands on her hips and says, “Girl, you  concern me. You’ve never even had a boyfriend!”

Touche, my young friend. Touche.

Because there’s really no way for me to come back from that, is there? No way to explain to anyone—let alone a nine-year-old—that I chose this. The singleness thing. How I wear the “never been dated” label like a crown. Tall and proud. No regrets.

It’s a fact that knocks the socks off of every nine-year-old girl I meet. (Sometimes I think that alone would make it all worthwhile, but I’ve got an ornery streak like that.)

I’m not ashamed of my relationship status; I just find it hard to explain at times. Because most people don’t think that being twenty-two years single is a thing to be proud of. In fact, I’d venture to say that most people, like a certain nine-year-old I know, would say that this actually concerns them to some extent.

Well, I’m sorry that you’re concerned, but I’m happy as I am, thank you very much. So, how have I managed all these years? I’m so glad you asked.

In my book, I talk a little about how I quickly decided that I didn’t want to spend my teen years in the business of broken hearts. I didn’t want to make the mistake of getting completely lost in a guy like some of my friends had done. But I’m realizing more and more every day that what ultimately kept me single was not what I didn’t  want, but what I did  want.

If you truly want to be happy and single, you’ve got to know what you want. (And what you want has got to be more than a husband and children and a cute little house with a white picket fence, if you know what I mean.)

This may sound ridiculous, but the real reason I avoided the dating world in high school is because I knew I was bound for the mission’s field. I wanted that little office nestled in the mountains of Virginia where people came together to further the Gospel throughout the world, and I knew that office was a long way from Ohio. And I knew my heart was never very good at holding things lightly. And I knew if I got too attached, I’d never pack up and go.

So I made a choice. And I kept making choices that led me to this place here and now. Because when it comes time to choose between a calling and a possibility, I’ll take the calling every time.

Because I know what I want. I know where God is leading me. And I know how easy it is to forget all that when my heart starts skipping three steps ahead.

I still believe there is someone out there who will come along and fulfill my dreams of marriage and family and cute little houses void of white picket fences because who needs a fence when the world is your playground. I still believe he will come and fit into all the other dreams like that piece of the jigsaw puzzle that finally makes sense because I’ve turned it the right way.

But I’ve never believed that God would give me two dreams only to make me choose one over the other. And while I believe in sacrifice, I’ve never believed in surrendering vital pieces of who I am in order to become a vital piece of someone else.

Because I choose to believe that there will one day be a relationship that I don’t have to force. And I know, I know, yes, I know that the only way I can be happy right now is by knowing that this is the path God has paved for me. This is the life I was made for living. And I find great comfort in the fact that I don’t have to chase down my Prince Charming; I just have to discern what God wants for my life right now and trust Him to take care of the rest.

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07/15/2013

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Getting Honest

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Give Me Some Time to Kick That Door Down

“It’s okay. I’m going to get you out of there,” I promised. “Just stand back against the wall so you don’t get hurt in the process.”

(BOOM) My foot connected with the solid wood of the door as several, small bystanders stood back and cheered, “You can do it, Miss Rebekah!”

(BOOM) Jared picked a… (BOOM) bad day to… (BOOM) be sick. (BOOM)

But I did it.

Even though my co-worker wasn’t there to help.
Even though it took me the better part of ten minutes.
Even though the door didn’t actually shatter beneath the weight of my blows.

Somehow I managed to jar that door just enough that the doorknob decided to become unstuck, and my student emerged from the bathroom of no return and into the arms of her sympathetic friends.

And just like that, I was a superhero, congratulated with high-fives and “I knew you could do its.”

I don’t typically feel like a superhero for trying to kick down doors.

In fact, it’s one of those habits that make me feel a little guilty. Sometimes a lot guilty.

So what’s the big difference between literal and figurative doors? Why is it not okay to kick the figurative ones down while it’s just fine and dandy to go all kung-fu on the real ones? Why, when they both lead to something I fully want to free?

I think it all comes down to permission from the boss.

When my student got locked in the bathroom, the first thing I did (after trying the lock on my own, of course) was call my boss. “Dave, what do I do?”

“Kick it in,” he said. “We need to replace that door anyway, so it doesn’t matter if you break it.”

Why does God never give me that permission?

Seriously. I’ll be standing at this door, jiggling the knob like, “Hello. I need to get in here. Hey God, do You mind?”

But He never tells me to kick it in. He just stands back and watches as I try to break it down and finally says, “Rebekah, what are you doing? Don’t you think I’d leave that door open if I meant for you to pass through?”

Oh. Um… I thought maybe You needed the reminder. This door was supposed to be open.

But it’s not.

It’s not because God knows better than you. It’s not because there are other doors a little ways down the hall that are just begging to be opened. Better doors that lead to greater opportunities.

And you miss them. You miss them when you’re kicking at doors that won’t budge beneath your weight. You miss them because you’re spending too much time jiggling a door handle that doesn’t twist when you flick your wrist.

You were never meant for walking through that door.

As much as it hurts to confess, that door wasn’t made for you.

And I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but there is something better waiting.

There’s a door you won’t have to force because it was made for swinging open at the faintest touch. But you can’t open a door that God has purposed to close. It’s simply not possible, no matter how long and how hard you kick at it.

So maybe it’s time to stop fighting. Maybe it’s time to pack up and move on. Maybe it’s time to find the door that has always been waiting, ready to be opened by the one who would surrender to the call of her God.

through that door

 

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07/09/2013

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Fairytale Fallacies

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All of Him and All of Me {The “Other Half” Fallacy}

“As a single woman, I thought there was something wrong with me,” she confessed. “While all my peers were out there looking for their ‘other half,’ I didn’t want that.”

It wasn’t the thought of having a relationship that scared her, it was the use of that phrase “other half.” Because if she had an “other half” out there somewhere, it meant she wasn’t complete without him. It meant that she, as a single woman, was somehow lacking.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to be a whole person on your own,” she said.

And it was all I could do to stay in my seat and remain silent when those words slipped out of her mouth, because my heart was singing a resounding echo of, “Yes! Yes! Thank you so much for going there!”

Because I think too many girls obsess over the thought of their “other half.” And I think that whether we realize it or not, that choice of wording plays out in our hearts in powerful and painful ways. Because as long as your “other half” is somewhere out there waiting, you are not complete.

I think it would be a dreadful thing to be missing half of myself. I have a hard enough time figuring out who I am without having to imagine that there’s still a huge piece of myself that I haven’t even met yet.

I don’t want to be half a person. I don’t want a fractured, broken, vital-pieces-missing version of myself to be all I have to offer my husband. And I certainly don’t want that to be all he has to offer me.

I want all of him and all of me. And I want to somehow meld all that together one day. But I still want to be whole in myself. Complete without him. And I want him to be complete without me.

When people say you should marry someone you cannot live without, I don’t think they mean it in a literal sense. Because I don’t think it’s healthy to depend on another human being like you depend on the air that you breathe. Because even though your spouse should be the most important aspect of your life, there will always be life outside each other. And I think so many of us tend to forget that.

Because what if we do believe in the “other half”? And what if spend our single years believing we’re not good enough on our own? And what if we do get married, but then tragedy strikes? As my friend shared last night, “What happens if my husband dies tomorrow? Am I half a person? I certainly hope not.”

I don’t think anyone should have to spend their life in pieces.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to be a whole person on your own.

And I don’t want to live a fractured life, trying to discover how the pieces are supposed to fit together.

So let’s all take a step toward becoming whole.

all of him and all of me