Having the Privilege
I don’t want to be silent, but I don’t know what to say.
I am watching as my city and country are in turmoil today. I am watching as broken-hearted, hurt, justifiably angry people step out and stand up for the pain and injustice they are suffering. I am watching them risk their own health and safety in the middle of a pandemic to show solidarity with those treated with brutal unfairness.
I say I am watching because I have the privilege of not knowing those pains and injustices first hand. I have the privilege of being able to retreat to my suburban neighborhood and watch from a distance. I have the privilege of having the color of skin that isn’t discriminated against.
I am watching with tears in my eyes as people fight for the right to be treated with basic human decency. I am watching with tears as people fight to be respected instead of stereotyped, to be seen for their worth and not for their perceived danger. I am watching as people bind together to fight against the systemic injustice that effects our communities and the powers that keep those systems in place.
I am also watching as doctors fighting the pandemic don’t have enough protective gear to keep them safe as they save lives but police have more than enough protective riot gear to keep them safe as they stir up violence among peaceful protesters. I am watching reporters be arrested on live television because their skin is seen as a threat. I am watching stories of violent white protesters barging in and endangering peaceful protests in black communities. I am watching black local elected representatives join protests to stand with their constituents and try to deescalate situations get pepper sprayed by their own police departments.
I am watching and I am grieving.
I don’t want to be silent, but I don’t know what to say.
Of course I am upset on their behalf. Of course I want change. Of course I want mercy and justice to prevail. Of course. Of course.
But I struggle with finding my role in speaking up. I don’t want to be yet another privileged white person on the internet virtue signaling that I am against racism by posting a cute quote graphic. I don’t want my voice to detract from those that desperately need to be heard right now. I don’t want to inject myself into something I cannot speak to.
But I also don’t want to close my mouth and say nothing. I don’t want to put the onus of the revolution on the already over-burdened shoulders of those who are suffering. I don’t want to turn to someone hurting and expect them to teach me how I aided in their hurts. I don’t want them to feel unsupported or unloved in their fight.
It is on me. That is a hard truth. I am not good at speaking up. Disturbing the peace and causing conflict goes against every fiber of my being. It gives me great anxiety. But so does the anger that I feel at the unnecessary conflict and unrest put upon others, an anger that grows until it comes out as hot tears.
I don’t know what difference I can make. I’m not sure how to start. There is so much strife and I feel so overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. Of the normalcy of the injustice in our society. Of the callousness of those who hear the cries of the hurting and can only complain about the inconvenience of it. Of the hardened hearts of those in power when the victims cry out let my people go. Of the call to just be peaceful when peace wasn’t working.
But I need to do something. I’m the one with the unfair privileges. And I have the privilege of getting to use them to help those who don’t.
I’m donating to a local group today. I’m praying for safety and mercy and justice. I’m sitting in a place of holy anger and grief today alongside those who are upset and mourning. I will do what I can and I will work on being better. It’s on me. It’s on all of us.
Body Image and Elastic Pants
A woman stands in front of a mirror, considering her own body. She examines herself with a critical eye that she believes is neutral and honest one. "I know I'm not as attractive as other women," she thinks, with an internal sigh that insinuates she has internalized this as fact. She wonders if she will able to look at her reflection and think of it as beautiful, or if she will ever meet someone who will tell her that she is in such a way that she believes that they truly mean it. Instead she looks away.
This scene could easily be from a PSA on building self esteem, or an article in a magazine about the deteriorating state of body image, or a movie where the heroine eventually meets someone like Colin Firth in Bridget Jones' Diary who likes her just as she is. In reality, this is me, brushing my teeth before bed, letting my mind wander as I stand tethered to the bathroom sink for two minutes.
I remember the first time I had this revelation about myself: In the first grade, when I noticed the cute, popular girls in my class wore outfits I saw at the store but thought were for littler kids, because they were different than the ones I had from the "big girl" section. None of them wore the elastic waistband stirrup pants my mom bought for me, and they were glowingly tended to by classmates and grown-ups alike. At the ripe age of seven, I resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t look like them, and definitely wouldn’t get the kind of preferential treatment that I saw them get because of it, and leaned into being the smart girl instead.
—
This week TIME magazine reported that WW (formerly Weight Watchers) has announced Kurbo, "a free nutrition and weight-loss app for kids as young as 8." It's marketed as a way for kids and teens to build healthy habits while overseen by a health coach. "The fun app keeps you on track...your parent's don't!" the website boasts. "You'll like the videos, challenges and cool hacks, too." It uses a Traffic Light system to categorize foods and the dashboard prominently features a large number showing how many 'red' (read: bad) foods you've logged for the day.
I'm not a nutritionist, or a child psychologist, but I can imagine what sort of impact this would have had on my younger self. I can imagine that little girl in elastic pants, already sensing that her body set her apart from her peers, and adding to it the shame of having an adult she loved tell her that something about her was bad and needed fixing. She was a child who already got anxiety-induced stomach aches during gym class at the thought of publicly failing at a game because she wasn't as athletic as the other kids. She ate pretty well — I can vividly remember the pediatrician being surprised at how infrequently our family had pizza, fast food, or soda compared to other children in the 1990s — but that wouldn’t have mattered. Giving that little girl an app that told her food like the homemade pie her grandma made for her birthday or the chicken nuggets her dad splurged on as a Friday night surprise were bad and that she shouldn't be eating them would have made her miserable. She would have felt so guilty for eating 'yellow' foods even though that was what her family could afford put on the table. In trying to boost Little Wesleigh's self esteem by making her healthier this app would have have instead plummeted it in the opposite direction.
—
And the thing is, while I have been plus-sized for the majority of my life, I didn't have as tough a time with body issues as some. I never actively hated my body, or suffered from any sort of disordered eating. I was mostly indifferent to it. My dad would remind us that in the long run looks would fade and your character was the most important part of you. My mom never put me or my sister on a diet as children because she had also struggled with being a chubby little girl and didn't want to put the same pressures she had faced on her daughters' shoulders. We were encouraged to play and do physical activities but never pushed to as weight loss motivation. My relationship with my body and weight and food was a bit complicated but could have been a lot worse.
Don't get me wrong, it was still hard. It was hard to grow up in an era where women's fashion revolved around spaghetti strap tank tops and mini skirts and I had to shop in the Gloria Vanderbilt section at Macy's to find jeans that fit. It was hard going to a specialty store to look at the five prom dresses available in my size when my friends went on fun shopping excursions with their moms. It was hard enough being a teenage girl while overweight; it would have been a million times harder if I had also grown up constantly tracking my food and worrying if, somehow, I was responsible for the way other people saw and treated me, and was only making things worse.
—
This is why my heart breaks for the little girls who will be handed this WW app. Instead of seeing themselves through their own eyes, they will start to look at and judge themselves through the fun-house mirrors that are society's ideas of what their bodies should look like. Just like my seven year old self, they will look at themselves and determine that they won’t measure up.
I want them to be able to enjoy food and not resent it for what it has or hasn’t done for them. I want them to exercise because they found an activity they enjoy and not because they have to meet a move goal. I want them to never have that moment where they look around and think that they are not as worthy of attention or affection because of their size.
I want them to look at themselves in the mirror while brushing their teeth and not even wonder if they’re beautiful, because they already know it to be true.
Thoughts and Prayers and Rowboats
A fellow was stuck on his rooftop in a flood. He was praying to God for help.
Soon a man in a rowboat came by and the fellow shouted to the man on the roof, "Jump in, I can save you.” The stranded fellow shouted back, "No, it's OK, I'm praying to God and he is going to save me.” So the rowboat went on.
Then a motorboat came by. The fellow in the motorboat shouted, "Jump in, I can save you." To this the stranded man said, "No thanks, I'm praying to God and he is going to save me. I have faith.” So the motorboat went on.
Then a helicopter came by and the pilot shouted down, "Grab this rope and I will lift you to safety." To this the stranded man again replied, "No thanks, I'm praying to God and he is going to save me. I have faith.” So the helicopter reluctantly flew away.
Soon the water rose above the rooftop and the man drowned. He went to Heaven. He finally got his chance to discuss this whole situation with God, at which point he exclaimed, "I had faith in you but you didn't save me, you let me drown. I don't understand why!"
To this God replied, "I sent you a rowboat and a motorboat and a helicopter, what more did you expect?”
—
I can’t remember where I first heard this modern-day parable, it may have been in one of the many issues of Reader’s Digest magazines piled up next to my dad’s recliner, or in a copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul, or even from the pulpit of a well-meaning pastor in the 90s.
I think of this story each time another mass shooting happens and politicians start tweeting thoughts and prayers for this week’s victims, and then doing nothing.
—
Teens are shot in their classrooms. Thoughts and prayers, say the politicians.
Festival goers are shot at an outdoor event. Our hearts are with the victims and their families, say the elected officials.
Shoppers are shot at a retail store. God bless their city, says the president.
“I had faith in you but you didn’t stop the shootings. I don’t understand why!” the politicians ask God.
God replies, “I gave you the position, the power, the influence to make change and keep them from happening. Why didn’t you use it?”
—
Like the man trapped on his roof, we are drowning in mass shootings. I feel increasingly frustrated and helpless as I watch white men with assault rifles taken calmly into custody because their right to own semi-automatic weapons of mass destruction has become more important than a citizen’s right to pursue happiness, faith, or education without the threat of death.
I can vote and be vocal but can’t pass laws or enact legislation on my own, so I turn to thoughts and prayers as something valuable I can add. I won’t downplay the importance of prayer; I think that in the midst of tragedy if someone says they are appealing to the highest authority in their life for grace and comfort on behalf of others, that is a lovely and honorable thing. But I am angered by those who have the position and ability to make nationwide change only to act as if thoughts and prayers and a shrug of the shoulders is all they can do.
—
Jesus told his disciples that “…anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done, and even greater works (John 14:12 NLT).” As Jesus was the literal hands and feet of God, the presence of God physically working among humankind, so are we: we’re the hands, the feet, the doers, the movers, the shakers, the rowers of boats going out to rescue the stranded on God’s behalf.
How can you reach out and help today? Maybe it’s calling your representative, participating in a protest, or giving blood. Maybe it’s donating to a cause, or volunteering — or simply not turning away and hoping someone else will take care of it. We can all do something. It doesn’t have to be this way.
And if truly the best you can do today is reflect and pray, by all means, do so with fervor.
My Church Taught on Singleness and It Made Me Cry
I have been a single Christian my entire life.
I’ve sat through — and learned from — countless sermons on parenting, on relationships, on the holiness of marriage. I’ve listened to preaching about using your time wisely to prepare yourself for a future relationship and teachings on how to date well as a teenager or twenty something.
But you know what I’ve never heard a sermon on, from the pulpit, to the entire congregation and not just the young adult ministry, until this past weekend?
Singleness.
It was one of those Sundays when I was getting ready for church and thought, I don’t know what the message is going on be on this week, but I’m probably going to regret this mascara. This happens from time to time, and inevitably I end up crying all over myself at the end of the service. Thankfully the mascara I use doesn’t run.
Our church recently started a series called Family Matters, and the first message tackled the meaning of marriage. The senior pastor taught on the famous passage in Ephesians 5 about wives and husbands, speaking about the language of the household codes present in Paul’s time, the radical idea of mutual submission, and the fact that the scripture never says that headship means getting to have the final say. He also spoke of the fact that the purpose of marriage is not to make us happy, but to make us holy, and teaches us to be like Jesus.
And while I agreed with the idea that marriage is about mutually submitting to and sacrificing for one another, I have to admit that the last bit about being made holy by marriage irked me a bit. What does that mean for those of us who aren’t married? Can we never reach the same level of holiness as our married friends?
So I was pretty intrigued when I got to church this Sunday morning and saw that the sermon was titled “Being Single with God” — and pretty trepidatious. Would this be another message about singleness being a time you should treasure before your easy life is left behind in exchange for stressful but blissful wedlock? Or how to use this time to my advantage so I’d make a good wife someday?
Thankfully, blessedly, it was neither. Instead it was a thoughtful look at the costs of being single — especially in a subculture where marriage and childbearing are traditionally viewed as the holiest pursuit. It acknowledged singleness as a hard thing that comes with its own pains that should not be minimized. It was a message that spoke to the value of single people.
And, to answer my earlier question on holiness, it was also a message that reminded us that Jesus was single and holy, and that as a Christian, your life is defined by your relationship to God, not your relationship to another person — meaning that it is equally possible to be whole and holy without marriage as it is with it.
I am so grateful for this sermon for so many reasons. I’m grateful to be part of a church that recognizes the singles that attend and legitimizes them and their lives. I’m grateful that singleness wasn’t spoken of as an ailment to be cured or a transition phase to be suffered through. I’m grateful that this message wasn’t just to reassure singles but ended with a call to married people to be empathetic and welcoming of the singles in their lives.
I’m most grateful for what happened at the end of the service, as we prepared to take communion. The pastor asked us to consider if things in our lives hadn’t gone as we expected, and if we had disappointments, to turn them over to God in exchange for the elements.
That’s when my mascara was tested.
Have you ever felt as if a sermon were written just for you, as if someone knew exactly what you needed to hear?
Because, truth be told, while I strive to be hopeful, I’ve struggled a lot with feeling disappointed that things haven’t gone as I expected. Disappointment and frustration have been on my mind and in my prayers a lot lately. Like I said, I’ve been single my whole life — and I really didn’t think it would last this long.
I needed to be reminded that although things haven’t gone the way I thought they would it doesn’t mean that something is wrong with me. It doesn’t mean that I am less than or missing something. I can be whole and holy where I am, as I am. I needed to be reminded that God knows and sees and cares for me. And I felt that this weekend, as I took communion, having finally heard validated by the church all the hopes and frustrations about singleness that I’ve been journaling about for years.
So I’ll leave you with this scripture from this weekend’s sermon, so that you might find hope in it, too.
And don’t be wishing you were someplace else or with someone else. Where you are right now is God’s place for you. Live and obey and love and believe right there. God, not your marital status, defines your life.
What Romance Novels Have Taught Me About Love
Don’t tell anyone that I told you this, but —
I really love historical romance novels.
It feels a little embarrassing to admit. I have an English degree! I should like classics or modern fiction or something! But, the heart wants what the heart wants — and this heart loves sappy love stories set in vaguely 19th century England.
I gobble them up. I like to read them on my iPad, partially for the convenience, and partially because that way I don’t have evidence of them lying around the house. I usually devour a book all in one sitting (or lying, I guess, since I am usually either on the couch or in bed), typically late at night, staying up until the wee hours of the morning to reach that inevitable happy ending.
That’s one of the things I love about them: there’s always a happy ending.
No matter what drama goes down over the course of the story, there is probably going to be an epilogue with a happily ever after and a baby. It’s inevitable. At least, in the kinds of series I like to read, it is; my favorites are the “sweet and clean” (yes, they’re really called that) ones that tend to start with a marriage of convenience, feature plenty of PG-13 safe make outs, and have some conveniently placed chapter breaks. It’s fine. I’d rather not have the Harlequin-style...imagery (once you’ve heard the word “flower” used in that context, you kind of wish you could bleach it from your brain). I’m perfectly content with the type of romance novel you’d be fine sharing with your mom or middle school niece.
Anyway, the series I’m into right now is by an author named Bree Wolf, which cleverly weaves all the books together by introducing friends and siblings and spinning off stories that all exist in the same universe. It’s like the MCU, but instead of superheroes they’re all nice people in Victorian-era London. Much less explosions, much more tea.
While all the characters and their plot lines are much different, there is admittedly a formula to these types of books, and in this particular series it manifests as a marriage early in the book that either one character or the other is reluctant about, and unfolds as one or both of them come to realize that they actually are worthy of love, and learn to accept the affection shown to them.
And I think it’s this aspect that keeps me coming back, why I’ve sped through five of them and am glad there are more:
I love reading about these relationships where someone who feels unworthy of love finally, finally believes that they were wrong.
Because, if I were a character in one of these books, I know I’d be the reluctant one. Are you sure you want me? Am I really the right one? Do I actually deserve all of this affection and devotion? Am I worthy?
Sometimes I lie in bed after finishing one of these books, still thinking about the epilogue full of glowing couples, and wonder, will I ever have that? I know they’re fictional people, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling a tiny bit jealous of their happiness. Will I ever have that kind of warm, open, affectionate marriage? Am I worthy?
I think wrestling with that question is one of the most basic and universal parts of being human. We all just want to know that we’re worth being loved. And that we’re worth it not because of the things we’ve done, the awards we’ve earned, or the goals we’ve accomplished, but simply because of who we are.
It’s also one of the hardest things to learn as a human. If I’m honest, I’m not entirely sure I completely believe it yet. I want to. I want to know that I’m totally, completely, utterly worthy of love.
But it’s hard to feel worthy of love when you’ve never been in love, or never been in love with. It’s hard to feel worthy when you’re never chosen. It’s hard to feel worthy when someone tells a new couple “if anyone deserves love, it’s you,” and you wonder if somehow being single means you weren’t as deserving.
I know someone who periodically posts on Twitter the simple phrase “You are worthy of love.” No explanation, no context, no caveat, because none is needed. It’s a fact. Period. And every time I see it, it hits me like a punch in the gut, or a catch in the throat, because I always need to hear it. It’s easy for me to believe that other people inherently are worthy of love. Of course they are. But me? Specifically? I am worthy? That’s a concept that can be hard to wrap my mind around.
So I turn to these sweet and clean historical romances, and watch as the characters slowly accept their worthiness, and realize that they are enough, that they do deserve to be loved. I think about the fact that I am not alone in feeling this way, and that I can someday fully accept my worthiness, too.
And if it takes a titled Englishman with a townhouse in London to help accomplish it, I’m definitely not going to complain about it. 💜
Hope When the World Feels Like a Dumpster Fire
Lately it feels like every time I turn on the TV, scroll through social media, or check my notifications, some new and devastating thing is happening. Hardly a day passes anymore without some gut-wrenching, heart-crushing news breaking.
It’s so much that the shock has started to wear off. Another day, another atrocity — and before there is a chance to fully process and mourn what has just passed, something else equally terrible happens, and the cycle starts all over again.
I can feel myself getting numb, turning to my favorite means of escapism so I don’t have to think about all the awful things going on in the world around me. I don’t like that I do that; I know it’s a privilege to even have the option to turn away from tragedy when others are living in it day in and day out. And I want to be the kind of person who is heartbroken at the sight of suffering and injustice...but it’s hard.
Someone I follow on Twitter once suggested that the human heart is only capable of handling so much pain at a time. And I don’t know about you, but it feels like my heart’s empathy levels are at full capacity, and the faucet dispensing the awfulness isn’t anywhere close to shutting off.
The issues at hand are so big — systemic racism, corrupt governments, unjust laws, deep-seated prejudice, etc. — that it ’s overwhelming. How did we get here? How do we fix this? Is it even possible to fix this? How can I make a difference? Where do I start?
Is everything as hopeless as it feels?
In the midst of this, I’m trying to be happy. I’ve been thinking about the things that bring me joy and am trying to purposefully make space for them in my life. I bought a book of poetry by a local writer whose work stirs my heart. I made cheesecake and shared it with everyone within arm's reach. I started making the bed every morning so I can slip into cool sheets at night.
Some days, even doing those little things can feel selfish. America seems to be going to hell in a hand-basket, and I’m over here making cheesecake, as if that is going to make anything better?
Well…yes. Because I think it’s important to have things to hope for, even if it’s something as simple as a slice of homemade cheesecake at the end of a taxing day.
Hope is faith in the possibility of something better. It is the thing that bubbles up inside of you, reminding you that change can come and good things can happen. In the face of a never-ending cycle of shock and sadness and the threat of numbed hearts, it is hope that can cancel out despair.
So when the world feels like a giant dumpster fire, how do we keep hope? Singing about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens might work for Julie Andrews during a thunderstorm, but that seems little consolation when toddlers are being detained in rooms made of wire fencing and entire cities don't have potable water.
I don’t know that I have a concrete answer, but I do have a suggestion: watch the world around you for glimmers of hope.
It's like the advice Mr. Roger's mother gave him in the face of tragedy: look for the helpers. Where are you seeing glimpses of hope in the midst of the mess? You might find it in the rising number of women being voted into office across the nation. Or the record numbers of blood donors that show up after a disaster. Maybe you see hope in a shared meal between neighbors of different faiths or in a kind gesture from a child you're raising. Or in something as simple a lovely sunset after a rainy day.
In times like this, I go back to the scripture that inspired the tagline of this blog, Romans 15:13 (NLT):
“I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.”
If I want to be filled with hope, I just need to trust in God, and through the Holy Spirit I can experience joy and peace. I know that can be harder than it sounds, but personally, I find it so comforting to believe that someone who sees and understands more than I do can be trusted to be in charge — and that He wants to share hope and joy and peace with us.
I keep thinking about that recording that's been going around of the mother from Guatemala talking on the phone to her child detained in a facility in Arizona after coming to the U.S. with his father. She comforts her son, despite their long and long-distance separation, and tells him:
"Don’t cry, my love. Be happy...Remember that God exists."
And the fact that she says this to a child that breaks my heart, but it's also a good reminder for all of us. Yeah, the world feels like a giant dumpster fire sometimes. It can feel unweildy and overwhelming and desperate. But even in the most desolate of situations, we can remember that God exists, and try to be happy. Change can come, despair can be dispelled, and things can get better. There can always be hope. 💜
A Million Little Kingdoms
My generation has a tendency to want to change the world.
We grew up being told to follow our dreams, invest in our passions, and believe that it’s possible for one person to make planet-wide positive change. And many of us have — we’ve built companies, started charities, created movements, and made a tangible impact on the world around us.
But we’re also a stressed out generation. Most of us are burdened with student load debt and trying to live up to increasingly unrealistic expectations. And you know what else can weigh upon a persons’ shoulders?
Trying to find a way to change the world.
You guys, the world is so big! There are literally billions of people in hundreds of countries and trying to make a notable difference…well, it’s a lot. But I realized something recently.
You don’t have the change the world. You just have to change yours.
Honestly, I don't think any of us are called to change the entire world. As we’ve established, the world is a big place. And even arguably the most influential person ever to live, Jesus himself, didn’t try to do it alone. He could have become an all-powerful king, and extended his influence from a place of celebrity as many expected of the messiah, but instead He looked at the world at hand, the people right in front of him whose lives he could change, and started there.
And if that model worked for Jesus, isn’t that where we should start, too?
In a conversation with RELEVANT Magazine, Sarah Pullman Bailey, religion reporter for The Washington Post, mentioned in a discussion on faith and culture that “now it seems like there are a million little kingdoms.”
I love this idea that within the greater kingdom of God, there are a million little kingdoms. There’s the kingdom of your family. The kingdom of your classmates or coworkers. The kingdom of your church, the women you have book club with on Thursdays, the guys who come over to watch the game, your Facebook friends, the community of people who follow that blogger you love, the other parents you see at your kid’s talent show.
And because you know the people in your kingdom, and they know you, you can be influential and make a big difference.
Jesus started his ministry by gathering a dozen guys and making a difference in their lives. Look at the world at hand, the people right in front of you, and start there. What little kingdom needs you? What little kingdom can you pour into and help make better?
You don’t have the change the world. You just have to change yours. 💜
What If My Relationship Status Never Changes?
Back in my day (I’m over 30 now, I’m officially allowed to use that phrase), not just anyone could have a Facebook profile. In the early 2000s you not only had to be a bona fide college student, with an active .edu email address, but your college had to be on the approved list of schools using the service. My school was pretty small and wasn’t on the list right away, but once we were approved, you can bet that everyone immediately set up their accounts with the perfect profile pic (selfie wasn’t really a word yet) and set their relationship status: single, in a relationship, or, because this was a site for college students, it’s complicated.
My first profile pic (we were still in the era of MySpace photos):
Around this same time, a movie came out that flopped with critics but would go on to become one of my favorites: Penelope, a fairy tale romance where a shaggy-haired James McAvoy falls for Christiana Ricci, a girl who was born with a pig nose as part of an old family curse.
Basically, the plot of the movie is that Penelope has to live as a “pig-faced girl” until someone of her own kind claims her as their own and the curse is broken. Her mother (wonderfully played by Catherine O’Hara) takes this to mean that she has to marry a fellow blue-blood, and starts matchmaking in hopes of finding a willing husband.
It doesn’t go well, obviously, and eventually Penelope gets fed up with the whole situation and runs away. Her parents (especially her mother) are distraught. At one point, her father worriedly says,
“We’ve spent so much time preparing her for the day when things would be different. We've never prepared her for the day that they're not.”
I think about this movie, and particularly this quote, more than the average person, I’m sure. Penelope had spent her entire life learning the skills and qualities that would make her a desirable wife, so that the curse could be broken. But what if she never found a husband? What if the curse was never broken? What if things never changed?
We recently watched this movie as party of my birthday month for our podcast, Viewing Party (you can listen to the whole episode here). My co-host Katie and I had a whole discussion about this particular quote, and why I think about it so much. To me, this line is so indicative of the way singleness is treated, especially in the church. We focus on marriage and families and how to prepare to succeed in those contexts, but we rarely hear how to succeed outside of them. Katie put it very well:
“We don’t spend enough time preparing ourselves for what [happens] if things don’t look different. How do you become content and peaceful and celebrate exactly what is instead of always looking for what isn’t?”
Facebook was designed so that the status could be changed, and that everyone would be notified when it did. Mine has been untouched since I first set it up, back in the day of Razr phones and endless loops of The Fray’s How to Save a Life. But what if my relationship status never changes? How do I celebrate what is instead of looking for what isn’t?
I’m not always good at it, if I’m being honest. I have days where I’m a lot more like Penelope’s mom, earnestly trying to find a cure so that I can finally live my best life instead of this insufficient one I’m dealing with right now. For a large part of this movie being single and unloveable is directly associated with being cursed, and there are definitely times where that feels true.
But it’s not true — and it is possible to celebrate exactly what is, right now. It’s not always easy, but it’s possible. When Penelope runs away, she finally goes and does all the things she’s put off doing before: she eats junk food, visits the street fair, goes to a pub, makes new friends. And eventually she realizes that she likes herself just the way she is, not the way that she could be when the curse is broken.
So here’s what I’m trying to do, and what you should do, too: Get out and do the things you’ve been putting off. Visit the places. Eat the things. Meet the people. Celebrate who you are right now.
Maybe things will be different someday. Maybe I’ll finally update that decade-old relationship status. Or maybe not — and that’s okay, even if it can be a bitter pill to swallow (and something I will talk about more in the upcoming post Will I Be Okay If I Never Get Married?). I’m not going to stop hoping that someday things could change. But I don’t want to miss out on celebrating my life if things don’t. 💜
Take Courage, My Heart
Have you ever had one of those moments when you hear a song for the first time, and it hits you in a place do deep in your heart that instantly hot tears are rolling down your face and dripping off your chin and you’re a hot mess?
Just me? Great.
There’s a song by Bethel Music that turns me into a fountain of salty tears every time I hear it. The whole song is lovely, but the chorus in particular really resonates with me:
So take courage my heart
Stay steadfast my soul
He’s in the waiting
And hold on to your hope
As your triumph unfolds
He’s never failing
I think about waiting a lot. About the things in my life I have been waiting for. Everyone is waiting for something different; for me, it’s a relationship. I keep hoping that this will be the year that I meet someone, fall in love, find my person. But it hasn’t happened yet, so I’m waiting.
Sometimes waiting seems lonely and awful. It can feel tortuous and soul-crushing to watch everyone around you moving forward while you’re waiting.
And that’s why I love this chorus: it reminds me that waiting isn’t something that I do alone. God is in the waiting.
Admittedly, I don’t often think about God being in the waiting place with me. Waiting feels like I’m a little kid, sent to sit on a kitchen stool alone for a time-out, counting down the minutes until the adult comes back into the room and tells me my time is up. It feels like a punishment I have to suffer through by myself.
But if I am courageous and steadfast, the song says, I’ll find God in the waiting. If I really examine the waiting place I’ll find that God is there, that He has always been there, that He will always be there. Because where I am, He is. Waiting isn’t a time where I am forced away from His presence and blessing; I’m not banished to another room. I can still meet with God there.
And yet I still have hope that, one day, my waiting will be over. That God has something good planned for me and that He won’t fail to bring it to fruition, whatever it might be.
The RELEVANT Podcast interviewed singer and songwriter Kristene DiMarco about her inspiration for this song. She said, as she was working through the lyrics with her co-writers, that she realized “we’re all looking for more courage to hang on to our hope.”
I love this idea that hope takes work. It’s not a magical feeling, it’s a thing we strive for. A thing that takes courage. Hope is one of those concepts, like love, that feels simple on the surface, but is actually a vast and tough and complicated thing that we may never fully understand.
Keep holding on to your hope. Keep looking for God in the waiting. Be courageous. I know you can.
And, in the meantime, join me in crying through this worship song 💜
5 Ways to Cope When Happy News Makes You Sad
Immediately after learning that my sister was pregnant with her first child, I sat down and cried.
The announcement was a joyful one: she was excited, her husband was excited, all the soon-to-be grandparents were excited. I was excited! There was going to be a new baby in the family!
And yet, after that first reaction of happiness, I couldn’t help but cry. I felt like a complete failure of a big sister. She was starting a family, and I — single, childless — had no experience or advice to offer her. I was supposed to hit those big life milestones first.
But I hadn’t. And in that happy moment, I found myself sad.
Have you been there?
Have you gotten that photo of a friend’s sparkly new engagement ring, only to find yourself feeling bitter that it wasn’t you? Or gone to a housewarming party and found yourself annoyed that your entire rented apartment full of furniture you put together yourself with an Allen wrench could fit in their backyard?
I’ve been there. It’s not the most fun place to be. So how do you cope when hearing happy news makes you sad — especially when you want to be happy?
1. Go ahead and cry.
My first inclination in these types of situations is to put on a brave face and not let anyone know that I’m upset. But you know what? It’s okay to be upset.
Some of the most freeing advice I’ve ever heard came from Joy Eggerich Reed, who at at the time was writing and speaking a lot about singleness and dating and relationships, and said something to the effect of if you need to excuse yourself from a party or situation and cry alone for a few minutes, go do it. Maybe don’t cry in front of your host, or the sweet friend that just made the happy announcement, but go do it.
Follow the example of Emma Thompson’s character in Love Actually and go to another room, put on some Joni Mitchell, think about your life and let the tears come. Get it out of your system. It’s okay.
2. Pray about it.
I know this sounds like a cliche answer, but sometimes cliches are true. When you’re feeling sad about someone else’s happy moment, pray about it. God wants to know how you’re doing.
You’re in good company: the Psalms are full of instances where David cried out to God because he was sad or upset. Lament is a perfectly acceptable emotion to show in prayer. Need a model? Try Psalm 13. It’s the one I always look to when I’m angry or sorrowful.
3. Ask a friend to pray with you about it.
You don’t have to experience these emotions alone. Find a trusted friend, pull them into a room with you, tell them what’s going on and ask them to pray for you. Sometimes it helps just to share with someone, even if you have to talk through sobs.
I’ve often found that friends will pray things over me that I didn’t know I wanted or needed. Invite them to share in this tough moment with you. We’re called to “be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep (Rom 12:15)” — and sometimes we are those that need to be wept with.
4. Don’t let comparison steal your joy.
You've probably heard the Teddy Roosevelt quote before that “comparison is the thief of joy.” And it so easy, when we’re watching our friends hit the milestones we thought we would have by now or accomplish the things we haven't yet, to let our joy be stolen. To become sad in someone’s happy moment.
But here’s the thing: You aren’t your friend. You’re you! Your lives were designed with different purposes and will unfold on different timelines. Just because their life has taken certain turns before yours has doesn’t mean your life is any less worthy or significant. If your life looked exactly like everyone else’s, you wouldn’t be able to accomplish the thing you were created for and that only you can do. I know it can be super hard in the moment — but try to remember that your life doesn’t have to look like that of those around you, and to stop comparing yours to theirs.
5. Treat yo self.
Do something that makes you happy. Take a walk on that beautiful trail that you like, meet up with friends for coffee, draw a bath and use that fancy bath bomb you’ve been saving.
In my experience, thinking about how sad I am only makes me sadder. I have a bad habit of mentally listing all of my complaints, as if that justifies feeling bad about myself, but it doesn’t help me feel any better. Concentrating on the things you enjoy and are thankful for can help readjust your mindset and pull you out of a sad mood.
It can be tough to find yourself sad, upset, or hurting in a moment when you expect to feel joy or excitement for someone you love. But you don’t have to go it alone, and you don’t have to stay there. 💜
Please note that I am not a counselor, and should you be experiencing profound sadness or depression, please reach out to a professional. There’s no shame in talking to someone or getting the help you need.