If someone would have told me when I was in my teens or early twenties that I wouldn’t get married until I was in my mid-thirties, I most likely would have collapsed on the floor with one hand thrown across my forehead in timeless dramatic fashion.
I suppose this is because everything life taught me up to that point was that getting married was my ultimate goal in life; my destiny, if you will. Marriage, children, and good old-fashioned wifery. This was the very reason for my being born.
To be unmarried past my twenties was to be a shame to my family, a disappointment, a failure, and an unwanted, unneeded, forgotten, washed up, lonely exile from society.
I mean, who doesn’t want that?
I have a vivid memory of touring a college campus with my youth group as an early teen when we spotted the car of a woman from our church in the parking lot.
“Poor thing” one person noted. “She’s probably working on her doctorate by now.”
“Why is that bad?” I remember shooting back.
“Because! She’s pushing 30 and still not married. Probably never will.”
I remember looking over at her car in the parking lot with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Even her car looked lonely to me. This intelligent woman I had always looked up to was, apparently, a failure—someone to be pitied. (By the way, she did get married.)
In church, I learned that Eve was created to make Adam happy, to fulfill his needs, help him complete his God-given tasks, birth him some children, raise the children, and then die, essentially. I learned that I was to be his trophy of honor: meek, beautiful, modest, and incredibly crafty at home. This was the ultimate purpose of a Godly woman.
However, the problem for me arose when I realized that I found none of this appealing. I had no true desire to sew handmade clothing for my future children, to spend hours in the kitchen learning to cook, and certainly no desire to practice keeping a clean home. For heaven’s sake, I didn’t even like decorating.
While all my friends were playing with dolls and dreaming of their future families, I was climbing trees, jumping my mountain bike over homemade bike ramps, challenging the neighbors to trampoline gymnastics competitions, and dreaming about the adventures I would go on one day.
I remember feeling deeply ashamed of this, especially when I began to mature and people expected me to have certain womanly competencies. Since I had avoided the kitchen at all costs throughout my upbringing, basic tasks, like chopping veggies, were clumsy and awkward for me.
Somewhere around my late teens, I started to believe I was fatally flawed. And I began to have excruciating shame and anxiety around other people who might discover this truth and confirm it’s reality.
If there’s one thing shame will do, it’s drive us into isolation. That is shame’s personal expertise. He can tear apart even the closest bonds, rip people out of communities, and even separate us from ourselves.
Shame is a jerk.
I think we need to be careful about the expectations we have for each other. The shoulds that drive deep feelings of shame in our closest relationships and society at large…the shoulds that have their roots in our own minds and hearts, but no true bearings in Scripture, or anywhere else for that matter.
I wish I could go back to find that 7-year-old girl in the woods, sit down next to her and explain that it was ok if she was a little bit of a weirdo. That she wasn’t made to simply follow in the footsteps of everyone around her. That it was ok to ask herself what she truly wanted and to go do that thing. And that it was ok she wouldn’t learn to cook or decorate or keep a home until she was well into her thirties…and that even then it would still be debatable.
I wish I could have told her that while all her friends were getting married in her twenties, she would be traveling the world, honing new skills, discovering passions, and making friendships and memories that would treasure more than anything. And that even though others might look at her life and assume there was something wrong with her, she could ignore this completely and enjoy every second of her unexpected path.
I’m astounded by the kind of God we have who has created us all so differently, with unique gifts, dreams and desires. He is the artist weaving together a colorful tapestry, far more intricate and vibrant than our minds can conceive of. I’m so thankful that he guided me, in spite of myself, into the life he designed for me.
Had I given into moments of panic throughout my late twenties and into my thirties, I would have missed out the moments I now treasure more than anything. And most likely, made a terrible mess of things. The experiences that shaped me in the greatest ways were during the time periods that felt the most aimless and chaotic.
Trust me, had I been given the opportunity to bail during those seasons, I would have. But thankfully, I have a Father who wouldn’t allow it. It was in the quiet moments I would hear Him calling me to obedient rebellion of what society had taught me. His love gave me the courage I needed to walk away from all that my heart never truly wanted.
Our true identities are found in those quiet hours in the morning, in the stillness we can hear our Creator calling us into the adventure that he has planned for us. Not in Sunday School, not in the paths of our role models, and not even in the shoulds of those we hold in highest esteem.
When you feel that should panic coming over you, it’s time to come out of the chaos. Let your heart rest in the silence and listen for the Voice that can bring peace to your soul and breath Life into your weary heart. It’s only there you will know how much your Father delights in you and in your unexpected, non-linear, out-of-the-ordinary path.
Quiet your heart and hear him calling you onward, you brave, beautiful girl.
“The Lord your God is with you,
the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing.”