September 3, 2008
http://www.christianitytoday.com/singles/newsletter/2008/mind1001.html
One date. Just one itsy-bitsy date (and I'm not referring to the fruit). You know that thing when the guy picks up the girl and takes her out to dinner; that's the kind of date I'm talking about. That's all I wanted—or, rather, thought I needed.
So, I prayed. For a date that is. Not intense, on-my-face type of prayer, but we (God and I) did discuss my need/want of a date on a somewhat regular basis.
A Dating Desert
I truly believed that producing a date wasn't a huge task for the Creator of all life. Surely, I surmised, this wasn't a big deal for God. Or so my line of reasoning believed, and I had the theology to back it up. If God is really the all-powerful Creator of the universe, then it would seem that conjuring up one eligible male prospect wouldn't be all that difficult.
After all, God did speak the world into existence, right?
He does own everything, right?
He does sustain the universe by His awesome power, right?
So how hard could it be for Him to produce one eligible member of the opposite sex? Not too difficult, I would assume. It's not like I'm asking for world peace … just dinner.
Yet for nine whole months I didn't even meet one guy that I would have coffee with, much less a full meal. This was a dating desert with no oasis in sight.
So, why did I need a date, you ask? Pride.
I'm not ashamed to admit it. Plain, simple, run-of-the-mill, rhymes-with-tide kind of pride. I guess you could say I wanted to save some face. I, too, wanted to walk away from my last relationship and act like nothing ever happened. It wasn't fair. I, too, wanted someone else to numb the ache … to fill the void. I so badly wanted to escape the pain of a breakup with the ease of meeting someone new. I really thought a new guy was the solution to my problem.
But I didn't get to escape the pain so easily. I was alone and facing yet another wedding season, class reunion, baby showers, and summer of family picnics—solo. Like I said, it didn't seem fair; I wanted to have someone as my "plus one" for these can't-go-alone events.
But I didn't.
Since the breakup (or what my friends now refer to as "the incident"), my ex-boyfriend successfully met, dated, got engaged to, and married someone else in the span of the eight short months since we said good-bye. (It is truly mind-blowing the speed at which some people are able to move on.) Yet, there I was, still trying to eat normal food again while he was picking out a groom's cake. What's up with that?
I'll be honest. Perhaps I viewed moving on like a competition. And if that's the case, then he was winning gold in the Olympics, and I was auditioning for the middle school track-and-field team. It just didn't seem fair.
As you can see, my pride desperately needed a date.
But it didn't get one … . No escape hatch.
The Breakup
Here's the thing: I thought my ex was "the one." I thought I was in love. Cupid hit me square between the eyes before I had time to duck. It seemed like this relationship dropped in my life out of nowhere, and after some initial resistance on my part, I finally let go, taking a free fall into my worst fear—being close enough to someone that he could actually hurt me. And guess what, he did.
Bad.
It wasn't his fault, really. Clearly, God had different paths for us. I know this to be true today, and I rejoice. In retrospect, I can say with full conviction that although we were part of one another's journeys only for a season, it was for a grand purpose. But back then, in the midst of long walks and laughing till our sides ached, my silly heart didn't get that memo. My heart didn't know it wasn't for keeps … so my heart went for it. It plunged.
I'm the type of girl who throws herself 125 percent into something. Lukewarm is not in my vocabulary. Full throttle. Hold nothing back. Give it all. And I did. I gave my heart.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I loved. I never want to be the girl with a calloused heart who can let go at the drop of a hat. I'm not wired that way. I'm not sure any of us are really. Hardness of heart and ease of separation are the by-products of a broken world where love doesn't last. Love was meant to last. We are supposed to hurt and crumble when our hearts are broken. It seems to me, if we get jaded and stop hurting, we are somehow less human. If my heart didn't break, it means I didn't love. And I did love. So when the relationship ended, I was whacked by the pendulum of emotions that flooded my way. I've never experienced a physical pain that compares to the emotional pain I felt.
I remember thinking, Is there an elephant sitting on my chest? Am I having a heart attack? So, this is why they call it "heartbreak."
Brutal.
Raw.
I was hemorrhaging with the type of gut-wrenching pain that sears every fiber of your being.
The Grieving Process
The funny/sad thing is they don't let you take sick leave for heartbreak. They really should, you know. I think I will petition Congress for this. Seriously, if people can take off work for the sundry things that we see medical doctors for, we should at least get a few "grieving days." I didn't get my grief time. No, I had to step back into my life, put on my game face, and choke back the emotions—all the while realizing how pathetically true country music lyrics can be at times.
But I did grieve—all five stages.
Allow me to explain. Psychologists suggest there are five stages to the grieving process. And they are:
1. Denial. (I really liked this stage. The phrase "reality bites" takes on a whole new meaning when you leave the denial stage.)
2. Anger. (I'm very thankful that God's grace cleanses even our sinful thoughts!)
3. Bargaining. (I did do quite a bit of shopping, but I don't think that is what is meant by this stage. Bargaining is when a person tries to play "let's make a deal" with God. If you will do this for me, then I will do this for you.)
4. Depression. (Sorry, I can't be funny here.)
5. And finally, Acceptance—sweet Acceptance.
Walking through this multilevel season of grief, filled with its doubts and fears, was for me a journey … a harsh wilderness trek through some rough woods and rugged terrain. Often, I felt completely lost in this wilderness. The underbrush of emotions and the steep cliffs of fear surrounded me at every turn. Confused, wounded, scared—and yes, at times, so very lonely.
And then, there were the questions:
How did I get here?
When will I get through a day without crying?
God, is this really part of the plan?
Along the way, there were times I was severely tempted to throw away my camping gear and build a permanent settlement. Denial is a cozy place to live … maybe I'll stay here, I mused. Or better yet, anger sure feels good. Perhaps I'll forward my mail. Then there's depression. At least a girl can catch up on her sleep in Depressionville. But I didn't stay for long at any of these campsites … although each sure seemed alluring at times. I pressed on through the wilderness, sensing something or Someone was beckoning me forward … deeper through the thick darkness … toward a glimmer, a spark, a distant Light.
Meanwhile, as I trudged through my own personal wilderness, I had to continue my normal life back in the city. You know, real-world stuff like going to work and attempting to be productive; pulling it together long enough to pretend to be social at dinner parties; smiling my way through other people's weddings; staring blankly at my professors as I tried to concentrate in graduate school; and numbly attending to the everyday tasks of grocery shopping, bill paying, and the dread of every single female—car maintenance. I had stuff to do. So, I had to get out of bed and get on with life.
On those occasions when I did venture back into the real world, amidst the whole and happy people, I heard every relationship cliché under the sun from well-meaning friends, family, and the occasional stranger who could see my pain from a mile away. Great truths like:
"God has someone better for you." (Oh, really? And you know this because … ?)
"This will all be used for good one day, you'll see."
"Sometimes 'good' is the enemy of God's 'best.'"
"Mr. Right is just right around the corner." (Aw, shucks.)
"Your heart will not break this badly the next time." (PS: not the greatest words of comfort.)
And my all-time favorite (drumroll please): "At least you don't look as old as you really are."
It amazed me how often well-intentioned people made me cry.
You're probably thinking, It's just a breakup. Get over it … move on. I did move on. Sure, I had to go through the grief process of losing my best friend and figuring out who my new "first call" would be. That was the easy part of the wilderness. Honestly, my grief over time wasn't about missing the guy or about not having a boyfriend; it was about something profoundly deeper—I was grieving the death of hope. Sure, it was a misplaced hope, but I will address that problem in another chapter. Until then, understand this: my grief was over the loss of someone and something all at the same time. I mourned, deeply mourned, the death of a desire: the desire to be married.
You see, I'd hoped he was "the one." I'd hoped that my dating days had come to an end. I'd hoped that finally I would be the one picking out china and planning a guest list. But when the relationship ended, I was right back where I started two years before, but this time the dance floor wasn't nearly as crowded. Most—slash that—90 percent of my friends were now married and either planning babies or buying car seat number two. I guess you could say I thought it was my turn. But when my relationship ended, not only did I feel hurt and alone; I also felt like the title of best-selling book series Left Behind.
The main problem was that I, like most girls I know, let my heart follow my mind. I painted this perfect little picture in my head of what I thought our life together would be like: our home, our friends, our kids, our vacations, our ministry, and, of course, our wedding. I was so busy planning "our future" that I lost track of the issues in "our present." Looking back, I realize I placed the hope of my future security and happiness in this image I conjured up in my mind. And then, one arduous summer night, we came to the conclusion that our futures weren't entwined and different paths lay before us.
Poof … it was all gone.
So what was I supposed to do now with all my plans? How did I go forward into a future without him that I'd already mapped out in my mind with him? This wasn't the plan. This certainly wasn't my plan. And somewhere in my heart arose anger at the One I knew full and well had a hand in all of this: God Almighty.
Do you remember the second stage of grief? Yep, that's right, it's called anger. And my anger was unleashed at the most unlikely person—the God whom I loved deeply and served with all my heart. You see, I knew it was God who said no. My faith was strong enough to understand that the "perfect will of the Lord cannot be thwarted" (Job 42:2 paraphrase). I knew God was the One who closed the door. We both did. Yet, I was so confused; I truly thought I was following God's plan. So if I was following God's will, then why did I feel like an eighteenwheeler had driven over my heart?
My life quickly moved from a breakup to a battlefield. The fight was on, and this fight was for my faith. An internal Enemy worked overtime in my thought life. The questions were the worst part. I'd lie my head on my pillow at night, desperately trying to fall asleep, and then they would come. The primary question targeted at my heart was sinister: If God is so good, then why do you hurt so bad? This question was followed by other tauntings:
How can you trust a God who would purposefully inflict such pain in your life?
How could He—that God you love so much—have allowed this to happen?
I thought Jesus loved you and had a wonderful plan for your life. Does this wonderful plan include public humiliation, rejection, heartbreak, and possibly lifelong singleness?
It seems your God has blessings for everyone but you. You are such a fool. That trust of yours is pathetic. You would be happier if you would just bail on following that Jesus.
Common Ground
Welcome to my most recent wilderness season.
What about yours? Where has life led you that is difficult, disappointing, or defeating? What journey are you traveling that is sending you into meltdown mode?
We all have our tale of heartbreak. Whether it's a breakup, miscarriage, personal failure, illness, financial crisis, infertility, divorce, death, abandonment … not one person reading this is immune to a wilderness season. Each woman's wilderness just bears a different name.
I know this much to be true because while I trekked through Brokenheart Bend, I had friends facing some fierce terrain of their own. Down the street a close friend dealt with the heartbreak of multiple miscarriages as she time and again hoped for a child, only to have her hope dashed within weeks of conception. Across town, another girlfriend struggled to put her life back together after watching her precious mother lose a battle with cancer.
The list goes on. While I waited for my heart to heal, another close friend waited and waited for a job offer during a long season of unemployment, only to find closed doors at every turn. And then, I can't count the number of single girls I know who are waiting for God to provide husbands, or women of all ages who are waiting for healing from an illness.
Life can be brutally hard sometimes.
I don't want to spoil the book, but I not only survived my wilderness, I came out on the other side with one incredible story to tell. It's a great adventure … a wild frontier with some spectacular views. Along the way I learned some pretty amazing lessons. Lessons that I'd like to call "Wilderness Skills." Skills, because I'm pretty sure this isn't my last trek into the wild, and should I return, I've learned some things this go-around that I'll be certain to put into practice the next time I find myself lost in the outback.
Whether you find yourself facing loneliness or rejection, temptation or despair, I know this one thing for sure: the wilderness season you are facing will either make you or break you.
Hold on, my friend. Don't give up. You are not alone. Jesus also walked through the wilderness, and He has given us His Word as our map and Himself as our guide. I wish so desperately that I could hold your hand and teach you these skills myself. Try as I may, my words fail to give you my heart. I know your pain. I understand the brokenness. I've lived this thing … and the truths found in these chapters aren't mere theories … they are life.
So, I prayed. For a date that is. Not intense, on-my-face type of prayer, but we (God and I) did discuss my need/want of a date on a somewhat regular basis.
A Dating Desert
I truly believed that producing a date wasn't a huge task for the Creator of all life. Surely, I surmised, this wasn't a big deal for God. Or so my line of reasoning believed, and I had the theology to back it up. If God is really the all-powerful Creator of the universe, then it would seem that conjuring up one eligible male prospect wouldn't be all that difficult.
After all, God did speak the world into existence, right?
He does own everything, right?
He does sustain the universe by His awesome power, right?
So how hard could it be for Him to produce one eligible member of the opposite sex? Not too difficult, I would assume. It's not like I'm asking for world peace … just dinner.
Yet for nine whole months I didn't even meet one guy that I would have coffee with, much less a full meal. This was a dating desert with no oasis in sight.
So, why did I need a date, you ask? Pride.
I'm not ashamed to admit it. Plain, simple, run-of-the-mill, rhymes-with-tide kind of pride. I guess you could say I wanted to save some face. I, too, wanted to walk away from my last relationship and act like nothing ever happened. It wasn't fair. I, too, wanted someone else to numb the ache … to fill the void. I so badly wanted to escape the pain of a breakup with the ease of meeting someone new. I really thought a new guy was the solution to my problem.
But I didn't get to escape the pain so easily. I was alone and facing yet another wedding season, class reunion, baby showers, and summer of family picnics—solo. Like I said, it didn't seem fair; I wanted to have someone as my "plus one" for these can't-go-alone events.
But I didn't.
Since the breakup (or what my friends now refer to as "the incident"), my ex-boyfriend successfully met, dated, got engaged to, and married someone else in the span of the eight short months since we said good-bye. (It is truly mind-blowing the speed at which some people are able to move on.) Yet, there I was, still trying to eat normal food again while he was picking out a groom's cake. What's up with that?
I'll be honest. Perhaps I viewed moving on like a competition. And if that's the case, then he was winning gold in the Olympics, and I was auditioning for the middle school track-and-field team. It just didn't seem fair.
As you can see, my pride desperately needed a date.
But it didn't get one … . No escape hatch.
The Breakup
Here's the thing: I thought my ex was "the one." I thought I was in love. Cupid hit me square between the eyes before I had time to duck. It seemed like this relationship dropped in my life out of nowhere, and after some initial resistance on my part, I finally let go, taking a free fall into my worst fear—being close enough to someone that he could actually hurt me. And guess what, he did.
Bad.
It wasn't his fault, really. Clearly, God had different paths for us. I know this to be true today, and I rejoice. In retrospect, I can say with full conviction that although we were part of one another's journeys only for a season, it was for a grand purpose. But back then, in the midst of long walks and laughing till our sides ached, my silly heart didn't get that memo. My heart didn't know it wasn't for keeps … so my heart went for it. It plunged.
I'm the type of girl who throws herself 125 percent into something. Lukewarm is not in my vocabulary. Full throttle. Hold nothing back. Give it all. And I did. I gave my heart.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I loved. I never want to be the girl with a calloused heart who can let go at the drop of a hat. I'm not wired that way. I'm not sure any of us are really. Hardness of heart and ease of separation are the by-products of a broken world where love doesn't last. Love was meant to last. We are supposed to hurt and crumble when our hearts are broken. It seems to me, if we get jaded and stop hurting, we are somehow less human. If my heart didn't break, it means I didn't love. And I did love. So when the relationship ended, I was whacked by the pendulum of emotions that flooded my way. I've never experienced a physical pain that compares to the emotional pain I felt.
I remember thinking, Is there an elephant sitting on my chest? Am I having a heart attack? So, this is why they call it "heartbreak."
Brutal.
Raw.
I was hemorrhaging with the type of gut-wrenching pain that sears every fiber of your being.
The Grieving Process
The funny/sad thing is they don't let you take sick leave for heartbreak. They really should, you know. I think I will petition Congress for this. Seriously, if people can take off work for the sundry things that we see medical doctors for, we should at least get a few "grieving days." I didn't get my grief time. No, I had to step back into my life, put on my game face, and choke back the emotions—all the while realizing how pathetically true country music lyrics can be at times.
But I did grieve—all five stages.
Allow me to explain. Psychologists suggest there are five stages to the grieving process. And they are:
1. Denial. (I really liked this stage. The phrase "reality bites" takes on a whole new meaning when you leave the denial stage.)
2. Anger. (I'm very thankful that God's grace cleanses even our sinful thoughts!)
3. Bargaining. (I did do quite a bit of shopping, but I don't think that is what is meant by this stage. Bargaining is when a person tries to play "let's make a deal" with God. If you will do this for me, then I will do this for you.)
4. Depression. (Sorry, I can't be funny here.)
5. And finally, Acceptance—sweet Acceptance.
Walking through this multilevel season of grief, filled with its doubts and fears, was for me a journey … a harsh wilderness trek through some rough woods and rugged terrain. Often, I felt completely lost in this wilderness. The underbrush of emotions and the steep cliffs of fear surrounded me at every turn. Confused, wounded, scared—and yes, at times, so very lonely.
And then, there were the questions:
How did I get here?
When will I get through a day without crying?
God, is this really part of the plan?
Along the way, there were times I was severely tempted to throw away my camping gear and build a permanent settlement. Denial is a cozy place to live … maybe I'll stay here, I mused. Or better yet, anger sure feels good. Perhaps I'll forward my mail. Then there's depression. At least a girl can catch up on her sleep in Depressionville. But I didn't stay for long at any of these campsites … although each sure seemed alluring at times. I pressed on through the wilderness, sensing something or Someone was beckoning me forward … deeper through the thick darkness … toward a glimmer, a spark, a distant Light.
Meanwhile, as I trudged through my own personal wilderness, I had to continue my normal life back in the city. You know, real-world stuff like going to work and attempting to be productive; pulling it together long enough to pretend to be social at dinner parties; smiling my way through other people's weddings; staring blankly at my professors as I tried to concentrate in graduate school; and numbly attending to the everyday tasks of grocery shopping, bill paying, and the dread of every single female—car maintenance. I had stuff to do. So, I had to get out of bed and get on with life.
On those occasions when I did venture back into the real world, amidst the whole and happy people, I heard every relationship cliché under the sun from well-meaning friends, family, and the occasional stranger who could see my pain from a mile away. Great truths like:
"God has someone better for you." (Oh, really? And you know this because … ?)
"This will all be used for good one day, you'll see."
"Sometimes 'good' is the enemy of God's 'best.'"
"Mr. Right is just right around the corner." (Aw, shucks.)
"Your heart will not break this badly the next time." (PS: not the greatest words of comfort.)
And my all-time favorite (drumroll please): "At least you don't look as old as you really are."
It amazed me how often well-intentioned people made me cry.
You're probably thinking, It's just a breakup. Get over it … move on. I did move on. Sure, I had to go through the grief process of losing my best friend and figuring out who my new "first call" would be. That was the easy part of the wilderness. Honestly, my grief over time wasn't about missing the guy or about not having a boyfriend; it was about something profoundly deeper—I was grieving the death of hope. Sure, it was a misplaced hope, but I will address that problem in another chapter. Until then, understand this: my grief was over the loss of someone and something all at the same time. I mourned, deeply mourned, the death of a desire: the desire to be married.
You see, I'd hoped he was "the one." I'd hoped that my dating days had come to an end. I'd hoped that finally I would be the one picking out china and planning a guest list. But when the relationship ended, I was right back where I started two years before, but this time the dance floor wasn't nearly as crowded. Most—slash that—90 percent of my friends were now married and either planning babies or buying car seat number two. I guess you could say I thought it was my turn. But when my relationship ended, not only did I feel hurt and alone; I also felt like the title of best-selling book series Left Behind.
The main problem was that I, like most girls I know, let my heart follow my mind. I painted this perfect little picture in my head of what I thought our life together would be like: our home, our friends, our kids, our vacations, our ministry, and, of course, our wedding. I was so busy planning "our future" that I lost track of the issues in "our present." Looking back, I realize I placed the hope of my future security and happiness in this image I conjured up in my mind. And then, one arduous summer night, we came to the conclusion that our futures weren't entwined and different paths lay before us.
Poof … it was all gone.
So what was I supposed to do now with all my plans? How did I go forward into a future without him that I'd already mapped out in my mind with him? This wasn't the plan. This certainly wasn't my plan. And somewhere in my heart arose anger at the One I knew full and well had a hand in all of this: God Almighty.
Do you remember the second stage of grief? Yep, that's right, it's called anger. And my anger was unleashed at the most unlikely person—the God whom I loved deeply and served with all my heart. You see, I knew it was God who said no. My faith was strong enough to understand that the "perfect will of the Lord cannot be thwarted" (Job 42:2 paraphrase). I knew God was the One who closed the door. We both did. Yet, I was so confused; I truly thought I was following God's plan. So if I was following God's will, then why did I feel like an eighteenwheeler had driven over my heart?
My life quickly moved from a breakup to a battlefield. The fight was on, and this fight was for my faith. An internal Enemy worked overtime in my thought life. The questions were the worst part. I'd lie my head on my pillow at night, desperately trying to fall asleep, and then they would come. The primary question targeted at my heart was sinister: If God is so good, then why do you hurt so bad? This question was followed by other tauntings:
How can you trust a God who would purposefully inflict such pain in your life?
How could He—that God you love so much—have allowed this to happen?
I thought Jesus loved you and had a wonderful plan for your life. Does this wonderful plan include public humiliation, rejection, heartbreak, and possibly lifelong singleness?
It seems your God has blessings for everyone but you. You are such a fool. That trust of yours is pathetic. You would be happier if you would just bail on following that Jesus.
Common Ground
Welcome to my most recent wilderness season.
What about yours? Where has life led you that is difficult, disappointing, or defeating? What journey are you traveling that is sending you into meltdown mode?
We all have our tale of heartbreak. Whether it's a breakup, miscarriage, personal failure, illness, financial crisis, infertility, divorce, death, abandonment … not one person reading this is immune to a wilderness season. Each woman's wilderness just bears a different name.
I know this much to be true because while I trekked through Brokenheart Bend, I had friends facing some fierce terrain of their own. Down the street a close friend dealt with the heartbreak of multiple miscarriages as she time and again hoped for a child, only to have her hope dashed within weeks of conception. Across town, another girlfriend struggled to put her life back together after watching her precious mother lose a battle with cancer.
The list goes on. While I waited for my heart to heal, another close friend waited and waited for a job offer during a long season of unemployment, only to find closed doors at every turn. And then, I can't count the number of single girls I know who are waiting for God to provide husbands, or women of all ages who are waiting for healing from an illness.
Life can be brutally hard sometimes.
I don't want to spoil the book, but I not only survived my wilderness, I came out on the other side with one incredible story to tell. It's a great adventure … a wild frontier with some spectacular views. Along the way I learned some pretty amazing lessons. Lessons that I'd like to call "Wilderness Skills." Skills, because I'm pretty sure this isn't my last trek into the wild, and should I return, I've learned some things this go-around that I'll be certain to put into practice the next time I find myself lost in the outback.
Whether you find yourself facing loneliness or rejection, temptation or despair, I know this one thing for sure: the wilderness season you are facing will either make you or break you.
Hold on, my friend. Don't give up. You are not alone. Jesus also walked through the wilderness, and He has given us His Word as our map and Himself as our guide. I wish so desperately that I could hold your hand and teach you these skills myself. Try as I may, my words fail to give you my heart. I know your pain. I understand the brokenness. I've lived this thing … and the truths found in these chapters aren't mere theories … they are life.
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