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When You’re Not Sure You Want What You Want Anymore

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I long maintained this blog with a goal of, amongst other things, encouraging and standing with single Christians.

Occasionally, someone has emailed in to let me know they’ve gotten something out of what’s posted here. For that I am grateful.

The ironic thing is that my own views on singleness have evolved over the years.

It was inevitable, really, as God – through his tool of Life Observed – granted me more wisdom. Or shoved it roughly down my earhole, more accurately. The longer we live as singles, the harder it is to preserve the illusions we once had about what marriage is, what God wants it to be, what it will do for us, and whether that last part is something we should even be thinking about.

At least, one would hope that our illusions fade with time. If they haven’t, we’ve probably been resisting the process.

Do I still want to be married and have a family of my own? Yes, I do. Very much.

But I don’t want it the same way I used to. I don’t want it in the same way I want the return of Christ, or a $10,000 bonus check from my employer for no reason, or an endless shrimp buffet – an unconditional good. I now look forward to marriage in the same way I looked forward to my Air Force ship-out date.

I enlisted in a delayed entry fashion, with a departure four months out, so that I could finish my black belt. A mere two weeks after I signed on the dotted line, 9/11 took place. All of a sudden, after a decade of relative world peace, the geopolitical situation was very much uncertain. I was joining the military in a time of great change.

Did I still want to enlist? Yes. But not in the same way as I wanted the shrimp buffet. I wanted it for the higher purpose. Something within me drove me on, left unquestionable the idea that this was the right thing. Even though a part of me flinched and braced and second-guessed, I would not have walked away from the idea, even if someone gave me the choice (they didn’t).

I now respond internally to the idea of marriage much more in line with this. It’s going to be hard. No, really. HARD. We singles shake off that word far too easily in our loneliness. There will be times when it’s thankless, dull, weighty, stressful, and intimidating, and powerless to solve the very things I’m feeling today, and that’s if I get my pick right. It’s all inevitable from being someone flawed and selfish, marrying someone flawed and selfish. Yet I bear the responsibility to continue to do it God’s way every day, heedless of the DEFCON level that particular moment. It’s not something I can do on my own.

And if that’s not how you see it, you might be resisting the process. You haven’t shipped out yet.

Perhaps you’re like me, still wanting marriage someday, but the warnings and coachings of your elders are starting to sink in at last. And it’s made a part of you…hesitant? Now you’re feeling like two people, one eagerly desiring, the other intimidated by the whole idea. Do you really want what you’ve always wanted? Is this God taking your desire away?

A single friend told me, after another session by a patient older (and married) counselor spent explaining how hard marriage was, that she blurted out, “Then why does anyone bother?” The counselor simply smiled. “Now that you’ve asked that question, you’re probably more ready than you ever have been.”

Embrace the tension.

Use it to prepare. Get into the Word. Improve yourself. Ask every day, “Am I someone I’d want to marry?” and make changes accordingly. Marriage is going to be more blood and sweat and tears than you know, and it’s my job to make sure that I’m not causing my spouse to be the one shedding.

It’s worth it. The counselors say that, too. Every one of them.

But it is both love and war you’re signing up for.

Let us train accordingly.

You Can Find Something to Be Thankful For

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I’ve always struggled with seeing thankfulness as a greeting card sentiment.

Today I read the way Jesus modeled thanksgiving in his life, and I recall that nothing Jesus did can really be considered flimsy or powerless.

Last week I wrote about the frustration that comes with hearing an “old answer” – when you’ve been in a particular trench for a long time but the next person has nothing but the same old advice. I got it again Wednesday. I’ve been grasping at the humility of accepting such words even if I want to hear something else, even if I don’t know what that something else is. And my own words come round to me.

There were many times Jesus spoke words of acceptance, healing, and love. Easy to hear, life to the soul. Better than we could have imagined.

But there were also times he simply blew right past the perspectives of his hearers and offered his Father’s perspective.

And he didn’t just do it to the Pharisees. Everyone, including his own disciples and “those who followed him”, got his perspective, often bluntly, whether they wanted it or not. He didn’t coddle. He didn’t equivocate. He didn’t massage Scripture (Matt. 22:29, John 5:39). He told them what they needed to hear. Take it or leave it. If they were on board, even if only partially, he let them know of his gladness (Mark 10:21, 12:34).

Jesus is not who we want him to be. He is who he is.

We can trust that this is good.

So today…I will be thankful. Even though my heart and mind are struggling to be.

I can walk without excruciating back or knee pain.

I have a roof over my head.

I have the best mother in the world.

I have a paid off vehicle.

I have eternal life in Jesus Christ and, in him, a friend who brings his power into my life.

Another hammer of the nail into the palm of my immaturity and disobedience.

Sometimes the Old Answers Still Work

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I was having a work-related struggle recently and I found it was stirring up something deeper, something eternity-related.

I went to a friend for advice. Then another friend. Then another friend. And all three basically said gracious but differently-worded versions of the same thing. It was frustrating. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear – it was what I suspected I might hear, but didn’t want to.

It wasn’t until the third person shared his thoughts that I realized I was hearing exactly what God wanted me to hear. It took me quite a bit of reflection to figure out why I didn’t appreciate hearing it.

I like new stuff.

Though we may not always realize it, we often go to friends hoping to get a perspective we haven’t heard before. Some new angle, some story, some strategy, maybe even a Scripture we had forgotten, what have you. The novel is tempting. This is a benefit of good counsel – we can be supplied with an outside perspective. But when the wisdom we are offered is true but hard, it reveals our hearts. Was there something we were hoping to hear?

There are gardens in our lives that we do not want watered with water we know. We think of it as old water, and surely new water is fresh and better, right? It frustrates us to go back to the things we already know. We’ve been there, done that. Our hard spiritual work doesn’t seem to be paying off. We’re still in the same places we were ten years ago. Old hat.

But then I remember Scripture has no expiration date. “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” (James 4:6). And it gives me the space to ask myself an honest question:

Since when does God owe me something better than the old answers?

Who am I to decide that, should they be necessary, the old answers aren’t enough?

Perhaps I simply need to keep on doing the hard task.

Perhaps I simply need to turn the other cheek.

Perhaps I simply need to own my wrong turn.

Perhaps I simply need to acknowledge the negative emotion, give it to the Lord, and again hit the trail.

Perhaps I simply need to groan again at the world’s darkness and long for The Day.

Sometimes I might be able to do something about my situation, improve my position, seek my rights. There might be times when I don’t have to just leave a blow unanswered, leave an idle dream unrealized, leave a mirror dark.

But when I must…no matter how many times I have already shown grace, chosen resilience, accepted self-sacrifice…I must do it again. Yes, again. As if the commands of the Holy Spirit have an expiration date, conveniently labeled as the moment the container decides it’s had enough.

New pride introduces itself as we grow older. The Entitlement of the Pilgrim, perhaps, whispering, “Surely we’ve done this enough times? Surely we can find ways around the Sunday School stuff this time? Surely, after everything we’ve been through, the old answers are just kinda, y’know, for the remedial?”

Nope. Not if I walk a trail owned by God. And they all are.

I renounce the Entitlement of the Pilgrim. The trailhead, the destination, and everything between are the Lord’s, and everything in them. Lord, help me be humble.

Sometimes the old answers still work.

There’s Authority Behind This Stuff

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How are my single Christians doing? I hope this post finds you deeper in Christ than the last (likely, given how long it’s been).

I’ve gotten a few emails over the months from single brothers and sisters who have benefited from the words herein. I’m grateful God has used them.

The world has certainly changed since the blog’s 2015 launch. Well, perhaps it’s not changed. But it’s taken steps towards its renewal by fire. War. Pestilence. Genocide. Depravity. TikTok. It’s all been downhill. Even the new WordPress AI tools that throw themselves at me offer new realms of possibilities, and all of them bad. I will wrote my own crazed diatribes, thank you.

My heart aches for those who currently have nobody human to ride it out with.

Yet I celebrate that Jesus has chosen to ride it out with us.

(put a pin in whatever emotional reaction you had to that statement, I’ll come back to it)

I celebrate that the Spirit comforts us.

I celebrate that the Father has redeemed and named us, and that no emotion, marital status, or human judgment can change His mind.

But for years, I didn’t really believe it.

I thought I did. I assented intellectually. But it hadn’t sunk to my heart, and the giveaway was my constant negative emotions. You see, I had sentences I was trying to overturn. Life experiences hand you sentences about your identity and the worth you carry, and my sentences were not kind. You should hear the stuff the enemy whispers in my hear, the stuff I fear others see on me (they’re actually not thinking about me at all – I know, small comfort really), the stuff that seems affirmed every morning I wake up in an empty apartment. Seems Satan has a vested interest in denying my worth, because doing so devalues Christ’s handiwork.

I knew what the Scriptures said. But the rushing weight of shame and regret seemed simply to outshout it.

Funny thing, though – I had no problem believing the Scriptures true in other areas.

I’d treat them as absolute truth when it came to explaining my faith. Absolute truth when the historicity of the cross and empty tomb needed defending. Absolute truth when doubting brothers or sisters would claim a wedge between the Old and New Testaments, when Ephesians offered guidance on righteous living, or when I needed reassurance of eternal life.

Or did I?

A few years back, I had a melanoma scare. (Hey look, I DID write about it!) This year, by the way, it’s liver spots. My skin gets up to all kinds of fun stuff now.

Where was I? The nevus was removed and I’ve had no further problems in this arena. But it got me researching melanoma, a sneaky widowmaker. Few varieties of cancer merit early detection more. And I found a fair bit of fear to be had. Primal, instinctive stuff. As if my mind paid no attention to anything my head knew. I was two men. Was I really saved? Was there life beyond this? How did I know?

Such fun, the tension of faith.

So when my emotions would start to overwhelm, when they’d ask what good are the Scriptures if I’m still miserable now, I learned to make certain statements:

“This book is true.”

“The credit and authority of the God of the universe stand behind it.”

“No man, woman, or human emotion can contradict this.”

I can’t tell you how many emotional escapes this started unlocking. For if the Scriptures are true, I really am fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps. 139:14). I really am moved from fear to sonship (Ro 8:15). I really am seen in the small things (Ps. 37:25) and in affliction (31:7). I really am on an inexorable track to stand blameless before Him at his return (1 Cor. 1:8).

Y’all, this stuff has the royal binding force of the King of Kings behind it!

And if that’s true, then maybe…just maybe…these lies needn’t ruin the moment.

Your feelings are real, but bring them to Christ instead and ask Him for His help and His closeness. He won’t fail you. They are seen, parsed, and reconciled in His presence alone. That’s the whole point, the whole reward. It always was.

The Value of Knowing Your Value

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Can’t be said enough. The one who doesn’t know their value in Christ is dangerously vulnerable.

Brandon Adams's avatarBrandon J. Adams

I ran across the following meme the other day (who says the Internet is useless?):

value

It is an incredible quote, for it brings many of our lives into sharp relief. It went straight onto the Facebook page for my blog, for it was propulsive and illuminating, at least for me. All of a sudden, through this idea, many of the regrettable actions we take (or see taken around us) gain an interpretation they never had before.

Most of what we interpret as immaturity are unhealthy attempts to prove our value.

The office worker who stirs up drama is trying to prove his value by bringing others down.

The family member who deflects or passes the buck when called out on a mistake does not realize that she can be valuable and wrong at the same time.

The one who turns every conversation towards themselves is too busy securing their…

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No Single Christian Left Behind

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Brandon Adams's avatarBrandon J. Adams

I have the privilege of doing youth work with a couple of guys I graduated high school with. They’re married with kids.

Several students I’ve mentored in that youth ministry have gotten hitched. One’s even had a couple daughters.

I saw an old (now married) girlfriend in the store the other day. She looked…I’m bad at this…six or seven months pregnant? I was certainly happy for her.

joggers

But it’s certainly enough to make a bachelor feel left behind.

In years gone by, I would often reassure myself with Don’t worry, they’re a lot older than you. You’ve got time. Then one day I woke up and was their age. So much for that arrow in the quiver. In fact, the pastor at one of our offshoot churches has a salt-and-pepper beard, a seminary degree, and a small tribe running around his wife’s ankles – and my jaw dropped when I…

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Why Are Lies So Loud and Truths So Quiet?

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Brandon Adams's avatarBrandon J. Adams

If only life had the decency to be the other way around.

I do not know why lies have all the connections to adrenaline suppliers.

I do not know why it’s fear, anger, and self-hatred that can seize your heart and weigh it down with a twenty-pound force, rather than peace and love.

I do not know why worry seems so inescapably truthful and peace so too-good-to-be-truey. (Okay, I didn’t have a good word there, but you know what I mean.)

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

But it is so. Some things are promised to the Christian, but not immediately possessed. Truths must be worked for; lies ride the second law of emotional thermodynamics straight to your doorstep. Truths must be fought for; lies dart across your battle lines and start whispering their propaganda. Truth is the gym visit, lies the chocolate cake. Truth is the ponderous jetliner, lies the gravity. The world and the…

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What If Jesus Announced That He Would Return On…

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Brandon Adams's avatarBrandon J. Adams

The following scenario will not happen. “Now concerning that day and hour no one knows – neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son — except the Father only” (Matthew 24:36).

I don’t anticipate the Lord going back on such long-laid plans. After all, the prior verse says, “Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will never pass away” (v. 35).

But humor me for a moment, and consider this hypothetical exchange:

Church: “Lord, we faint. We long for your presence. Please, please tell us when you’re coming back.”

Jesus: “Oh, very well. The Father has relented and authorized me to tell you. I will be returning on…”

Global bated breath. People in every village, city, region, and nation await the next words. One of the most significant, weighty questions ever pondered on earth is about to be answered.

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My Extraordinary Mission Trip

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Wondering why (hoping?) that I’d fallen off the earth entirely?

Not this time. But I did travel to the other side of it.

For ten days this month, God called me to the unspeakable privilege of carrying his gospel to an unreached people group in South Asia. There are security concerns due to the region’s hostility towards Christianity, so I won’t reveal the exact location. I spent six days there, two days traveling each way, and six days afterwards lolling about jet-lagged out of my mind. That accounts for my absence.

It was…extraordinary.

I got to wade through ankle-high trash carrying rice bowls…and the Good News…to impoverished but smiling people living under urban bridges.

I got to pray with them as they eagerly set aside their own deities (or at least began the process) and accepted the one true God.

I got to travel to tiny tarp villages in the absolute middle of nowhere to teach and encourage brand new believers in sweltering brick huts.

I got to encourage new brethren from a fisherman’s village.

I got to lay hands on all these brothers and sisters asking God for jobs, healings, the end of family abuse, and protection against forced idol worship.

I got to share my faith, along with my team, with a confident but attentive Muslim waitress at a Hard Rock Cafe.

I got to watch out of the window at the poverty and chaos generated by false religion.

I got to speak at a Sunday morning service about, as George Whitefield said, repenting of both our sin and our righteousness (as in, repenting of our attempts to gain status before God and letting the cross be 100% of our justification).

I got to meet the beleaguered but determined brothers and sisters who are doing the gruntwork on their home soil, pleading with their countrymen to come to Christ.

It was…amazing.

And not easy. I remember being pretty freaked out as we drove to our first bridge site, asked to step out of a rental van and simply start sharing the Gospel with complete strangers. It required everything I’d ever learned (or taught myself back home). Did I trust God to back me up? Was my confidence in my identity in him? Did I know the Gospel? Could I answer their questions (I remember one young man curious to know how and why Jesus was killed)?

God was faithful. My teammates were marvelous. The prayer and financial support from my church was palpable.

And people are in the kingdom of God now, who weren’t before.

I’ll be back to my normal blogging schedule and headspace here soon, but I’ll warn you now: if talk of foreign missions makes you uncomfortable, this blog might not be the place for you anymore. We are called; we are not given the option. Thousands plunge daily, millions annually, into hell. I hope you’ll stick around and let yourself be challenged as I was.

Trusting God with Your Worst-Case Scenario — Christy Fitzwater

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This post contains a Dallas Willard quote that has wrecked my life this year in the best possible way – a lesson straight out of Daniel. All I can do today is set this post before you.

They started talking about how crowded our school was back in May, and my brilliant mind told a story of how I would have to go back to my tiny classroom–no wait–maybe I wouldn’t even have a classroom and would have to travel to borrowed rooms, since I was a part-time teacher. 165 more words

via Trusting God with Your Worst-Case Scenario — Christy Fitzwater