M. Suzanne Terry

I’m unsettled this morning.

Maybe it’s residue from saying too many feelings about too many true things yesterday.

Maybe it’s the three shared “inspirational” photos that I saw in the first five minutes of scrolling through my Facebook feed with captions simultaneously telling me how to get a man (put all of your energy into becoming the mighty – but not too mighty, because then how will you be a submissive wife – woman of God you are eventually supposed to be so that you can actually be lovable) but how not to worry about it in the process (just focus on God – don’t think about it – don’t look for a guy.  Just.  Focus.  On. God.).  Then God will knight-in-shining-armor his way in and give you the desires of your heart (i.e., a husband, which is still your desire…only deep, deep down – because you’re not thinking about it, if you’re Doing It Right).

Maybe I just need more coffee.

My gut reaction to these posts in the past has been to scoff at the fresh-faced, dewy-eyed, child couple in the photo.  You know, the couple who look like they weren’t even old enough to toast each other legally at the reception.  My old crone reaction used to be, “It’s easy to wait for a husband when you’re twelve.”  And I still feel that tugging at my mind, particularly when I am being given unsolicited advice from people twenty years younger than I am.  Also, God is not a gumball machine.  You don’t put in your time and pull out a spouse.  That’s not how it works.

But then I remember when I was twelve (and eighteen and twenty-five and thirty), and it wasn’t easy.  Nothing was easy about twelve.

Uncertainty and relationships – maintaining the ones you have and longing for the ones you lack – are never easy.

I don’t want to frighten anyone, but it doesn’t get easier as you get older.  At least the longing part doesn’t.  It’s never easy to be without something you want.  It doesn’t hurt any less.  You don’t get used to it.

There can be grace and joy in the midst of your lack.  Your life doesn’t have to be all about finding someone to share it.  Please let there be more to your life than this.  You really are enough – at every age.

There are also unholy mornings, when you’re done with temporary roommates, but you want someone to be there when you get home, so that every magic thing of your day doesn’t die unspoken when you go to sleep.

These are the mornings that I want to call in sick, go back to bed, and hide from the world.

These are the mornings when it is especially important not to do that.

So hello, world.  Hello, my unholy morning.