Have you ever cried in church?

I’m not talking about tearing up at a wedding or letting a few run down your cheeks at a funeral. I’ve done that plenty of times. Almost every wedding and every funeral I’ve attended, there have been the tears.

I’m talking about the waterworks. The kind that require digging tissues out of the bottom of your purse that you’re convinced has a black hole because right when you need the tissues, you can find everything but them. The kind that do that whole snot coming out of your nose, incredibly unattractive thing. The kind where you can’t even talk because of the tears building up in your throat.

Have you ever done that? At church?

I have. Twice. Since December. It’s getting old.

I prayed hard and long about the church I would join when I moved to Charlotte. I prayed for specific things, but one of the things I prayed for was that it would be multigenerational. OBC is definitely that. On any given week, there has to be a span of at least eighty years from the youngest attender to the oldest. I find this so encouraging and am thankful the Lord answered that prayer.

Most days.

One of the things that I think I tell my friends about my church that I love the most is that the older women (and men, but not the point I’m trying to make) are incredibly intentional. I have been “pursued” by multiple women, prayed for, encouraged, and more. I’m so thankful for the relationships that have been born out of such a short time.

These women are all in different stages, but one thing they all have in common is that they are moms. They are moms to three, four, five kids, wives to godly men, and women I’m blessed to call friends. Other than the fact that we are Christians and go to the same church, we don’t have much in common. They’re moms, and I’m, well, even though I feel like a mom eight hours a day, I’m not.

I’m a single teacher whose likelihood of becoming a mom anytime soon is about as probable as it snowing in Miami.

Not just becoming a mom. Becoming a wife, too.

You know what–it hurts to watch families at church. Physically and emotionally hurts. They have what I want, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I don’t have it. I know their lives aren’t perfect. I’ve been in their homes and around them enough to know it’s not always greener on the other side.

But, that doesn’t stop the hurt. It doesn’t stop the questions. It doesn’t stop the late nights of crying out to God about why my life is the way it is while others’ lives are so incredibly different. It doesn’t stop the snotty-nose, gut-wrenching cry sessions I’ve had during the middle of worship at church.

I’ve had enough.

Enough tears to last me a lifetime. Enough of wondering what’s wrong with me. Enough of asking God why this is happening to me, what I did or didn’t do to get this life. Enough of questioning the choices I’ve made. Enough of not taking advantage of the life that God has given me.

Enough of wondering if God will truly be enough for me if I never get married and have kids.

I’ve had enough.

I’m throwing in the towel, so to speak, and I’m on a journey to do single life well. Yes, it sucks at times to be alone on a night like tonight (ahem, Valentine’s Day). Yes, it’s hard to show up to weddings, showers, and parties alone. Yes, I still cry myself to sleep some nights.

But, I’m done asking why.

He IS enough for me, even if I never get married or have kids. He is all I will ever need, and He is the only one who will ever truly satisfy me. If the Lord so graciously blesses me with a husband and children, He will still be the only one whom I can completely rest in, trust in, and be content in. Because He is enough.

And He always will be.




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