I Celebrate You, Single!

What do I use to mark my anniversary? I realised recently that it’s been nearly 20 years of being single. Actually, more than that but I figure 2002 was a good starting point.

How do I celebrate 20 years of my life that, according to the world’s definition, is full of un-events?

UN-married. Child-LESS.

Married couples be posting beautiful markers like photos of trips and dinners and fun with kids together at 5, 10, 15 year anniversaries, accompanied by writing about how much they appreciate the fun, the mess, the ups and downs, the support, of their beautiful husband or wife, and how hard and how rewarding it’s all been.

And 99% of people will relate and celebrate. Tick! You’ve stayed married. You’ve gone through labour, kid-raising, and the hard work of compromise in marriage.

How do I celebrate the things I’m proud of that I can’t even describe because there simply is no cultural narrative for them?

Mine is a world of non-events and non-celebration according to the world’s narrative.

There are only one or two types of cards that apply to me in the card section of the bookstore: the birthday card, and the sympathy card. Not the ‘congrats, you’re expecting’, card, or the ‘congrats it’s a girl’, or ‘congrats on your engagement’, or ‘congrats on your wedding’, and not ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ cards either.

Nope, I don’t have kids. Not a one. So I can’t celebrate perseverance through sleepless nights, messy mornings, loud dinners and kisses before bed.

Yet I am celebrated. God celebrates me. And if you’re single, I wanted to take time today to celebrate you too.

I won’t find a card that celebrates the depth and calibre of your heart, a card to celebrate your patience, a card to celebrate your celibacy, a card to celebrate your fierce brand of faith despite countless disappointments, or a card to celebrate each night alone (or 7,300 nights if it’s your 20th anniversary, like me) with none of the comforts of cuddles, or simply a hand-hold or kiss. Each of those moments of bravery, purity and tenacity are a priceless celebration in my eyes.

I celebrate hope in you.

I celebrate the beautiful times of closeness with God, the dawn prayers, the time to seek, play, times of reading and watching, times to have spontaneous fun in the world and coffees with people at short notice.

I celebrate that the extent of ‘freedom’ most people think you have doesn’t quite play out as they imagine it to be but you let them believe what they want and keep your joy.

I celebrate the massive investment you’ve made into the friendships you have, the time you’ve taken to deepen and navigate something with love even though friends are not covenanted to you and could go out of your life anytime.

It takes courage to invest in relationships where there is no vow, no oxytocin bonding kick, no kids, no reason for anyone to stick around.

When friendships fall apart, it takes untold courage to invest again, especially when these are your closest relationships.

It takes courage to invest your whole heart into your nephews and nieces when your own heart often aches and even screams that you would love a family of your own.

I celebrate your perseverance and choosing to keep your heart sweet even though you might feel invisible in the heart-wrenching struggle of running out of time to have a child. Although it seems socially acceptable to have empathy for couples who can’t conceive, it seems like no one wants to know about the grief that comes when you can’t conceive because you find yourself single, and you’re choosing to honour God with your sex life by not having sex outside marriage.

I celebrate that you’ve navigated for over a decade in boarding and flatting and living alone in small units from which you may be asked to leave at any point.

I celebrate that you choose to make God your home, and God your own family, and I celebrate that you have an understanding of this that goes deeper than most would even want to know.

I celebrate that you have carried your heart well, and have chosen to decorate in fairy lights and cushions, even if it’s just for a year or two before needing to move house yet again, when you haven’t had a space on earth that you could really call your own.

I celebrate that you choose to love ocean waves and walks and ferns and the sound of rain and cooking for yourself even when alone.

I celebrate that I haven’t gone crazy with the whirlwind of thoughts that sometimes come with the territory of long-term singleness: did I do something wrong, did I waste a decade, is this what God’s intention is for me or did I miss the boat, is there something I’m just not understanding, did I hear from God right?

I celebrate that I also haven’t gone crazy with the lack of resources and understanding of single people – the presumption that our lists are too long and our efforts too thin, the idea that if I’m unmarried it’s totally my own choice, or that all single people are simply in a holding cell of ‘working on themselves’ until God brings someone along, and being told that I’ll never understand love properly because I’ve never had a child.

I celebrate perseverance and joy in Jesus. He is my source of closeness and grace. He is my one. He is the guy who whispers the things He loves about me just loud enough for me to hear, in a crowd or alone. He’s my romance. He is the one who reveals to me that He’s made me to be so many spectacular things.

He brings the butterflies along my path, and He brings the help when I or my car break down, He is the support at my back. He’s the one who understands this journey more than anyone because He made me, and He was single too. I’m so glad I started walking with Him all those years ago.

I celebrate and I am celebrated when I remember that it’s Him, and why I chose 2002 as my starting point: I started walking with Him at that point, so HE is my upcoming 20-year anniversary.

Photo credit: Rowan Kyle on unsplash