New Chapter

11 years ago, I played an April Fools’ prank on my Facebook friends by posting a picture of my friend Kristine’s engagement band. Believing that I had gotten engaged, hundreds of friends, relatives, and acquaintances, some of whom I hadn’t heard from in a long time, poured into the comment section with messages of congratulations and celebration. Never mind that I had never even mentioned a fiancé, a boyfriend, or even that I was dating. I had a big laugh, and some people were annoyed and even angry, but the public reaction to that prank left a lasting impression on me.

In the many years following that joke, I seldom received the same messages of support or celebration (whether online or in real life) whenever I said I was happy being single and that I had no plans of marrying. The sentiment was always the same:

Oh, don’t worry, you’ll find someone.
Don’t say that, you sound bitter.
You need to pray for a husband.
Why do you have to keep saying you’re happy and single? Do you have something to prove?

Then, suddenly, when I started dating (and then actually got engaged for real) the support and celebration returned. And while I appreciate the sentiments of family and friends who feel genuine happiness for me and my soon-to-be husband, it’s also made me a little bit sad.

It’s no wonder then that I find myself feeling mixed emotions as the date of our wedding draws ever closer. I love Jesse very much, and I’ve chosen to commit to him for the rest of my life. I am so grateful that God brought us together.

And yet, a small but important part of me genuinely grieves for my single life. Not because I want to keep dating other people, or because I’m losing my freedom, but because I feel like hardly anyone ever understood or appreciated how much I truly loved my life on my own. I loved spending so much of my free time with friends. I loved having the ample emotional capacity to devote to ministry. I loved living in a space that was mine and only mine, blessed with daily hours of quietness and rest. And I almost feel like I’m betraying the Ruby who praised God for her single blessedness.

Is life since meeting Jesse better than being single? It’s hard to say. It’s just different. The challenges are different. The advantages are different. Many of the highs are higher, but the some of the lows are also lower.

I’m 38, Jesse is 43; we’re getting married at an age when a lot of people would already have kids in college. We’ve observed too many marriages around us, both good and bad, to come into it with any of the illusions about happily ever after that many younger couples start out with. We simply see each other as someone we can realistically envision a common future with, and are arming ourselves with tools from multiple sources to deal with the inevitable storms as we face that future (so romantic, I know!).

I have no doubts that marriage will be an enriching experience, one that will force both of us to grow in ways that we couldn’t have on our own. But extended singleness in Christ was such a special time of faith and growth, too – one that not many people will experience, and one I will cherish forever, despite the challenges and struggles that it came with.

My one promise to my past self is that even when I’ve been married for years, I will never make other people feel less-than, or immature, or incomplete, simply for enjoying being single. Jesse is my partner, but he doesn’t complete me. Neither do I complete him. We both understand that Christ is the only one who makes each of us whole, and that’s why we work together, despite our differences and weaknesses. To well-meaning Christians who say that remaining single is an incomplete human experience, remember this: Jesus himself died unmarried.

Perhaps the mix of emotions I’m feeling is much like the one you experience after closing the cover of a wonderful book and putting it down. You feel sad that it’s over, but also excited because now you get to pick up another one and discover a whole new story.