finding perfected love (& being okay with receiving it)

Singleness in the church, at least when you’re in your early twenties, is viewed as a curse. It’s this huge rollercoaster of emotions that you want to get off of, whether that’s through a call to singleness, or “The One” coming out of the woodwork to sweep you off of your feet. Some find solace in singles ministry. Some find solace in dating around. Some find solace in praying for their future wife/husband. Very few are willing to find their solace in the Lord. 

God’s been teaching me a lot about fear and how to hand it over. I’ve listened to podcasts, prayed prayers, but it’s impossible to hand over fear that you don’t realize you possess. And He’s pointed this fear out before; I just never listen. Or if I do, it’s for a quick second, and then I’m back to wishing, wanting, waiting. I’ll listen to sad music in my car when I’m mourning my singleness. I’ll listen to love songs if I’m not focused on my singleness. But in some way, I’m always spinning this web of pity for myself, and then becoming bitter when people point out any fault in this capacity.

Yesterday, one of my best friends taught our Sunday morning lesson on Ephesians 5. So naturally, we discussed relationships and submission. I took notes. I participated in discussion. I suppressed. And then, not 12 hours later, I broke down in her car. You see, she was trying to share what she was going through. She was catching me up on her life. And her life had joy. Her life had promise. She was fine. I was not. I took what should have been a beautiful, happy, lovely moment, and I kidnapped it. Or rather, my fear did. My desire to be a good friend made me an unnecessary martyr. I knew the thoughts in my head weren’t from the Lord. When she asked me what was wrong, I actually responded with, “I know the thoughts are wrong and if I say them out loud, they’re real”. I got so, so good at masking my fears. So good that I was unable to identify them. 

Now, I have very forgiving friends. They have been so kind, so gentle, so ready to guide and pray and counsel. And because of that, I’ve been content with being in a place that I view as “two steps behind” them, all because it means I don’t have to make my own mistakes or build my own beliefs. This means that I've anticipated my entire life to be two steps behind them, so when they are both involved in good, Godly relationships and I’m not, I feel like I’m not worth anything.

My February started kind of rough. I was sad, I was missing the idea of a relationship, and I was very vulnerable. I fed into the “#relationshipgoals” that I saw on social media. I moped around my house about not having a hand to hold, an arm to wrap around me. I went to a girls’ night on Valentine’s Day, but it merely masked the pain and hurt and sadness I was feeling in my singleness. It felt like all of my friends were finding themselves in relationships. Suddenly, it was more than just “when do I get that?” It became “why don’t I have that?” And why didn’t I? What were my friends doing right that I was doing wrong? Where were they going, what were they doing, what prayers were they praying that they got their happily ever afters and I was left behind? 

As we rolled into March, my feelings of inadequacy became judgements based on outside appearances. I closed off the “why not me” and opened the door of “what’s so special”. I became bitter, prideful, and even began to boast in my singleness. I could have friendships with men. I didn’t have to account for my time. I wasn’t responsible to anyone but myself. And then, I watched several relationships end. And while I held my friends, mourned with them, comforted them, I found myself happy in their sadness. I found myself ready to have my friends back. I found myself rejoicing in their trials and dark places, all out of selfish ambition to not be alone. And in an effort to not inconvenience anyone, I refused to acknowledge any of this aloud. If I didn’t tell anyone, they didn’t have to focus on me and my self-pity, they could just live their lives. I didn’t have to be painted as the villain, I could just keep this secret, quiet this fear myself, and no one would ever know.

But then, God.

God took a moment of utter selfishness. A half hour of whining about my own shortcomings to friends who just wanted someone to rejoice with her and be happy for her. And in that time, in front of those people, God broke me. I had to drive home before I was even done crying. I had to walk into my house, shower, and get ready for my Monday. I had to lay in my bed and stare at my ceiling for an hour before I realized God wanted to talk. So I got up. I pulled out my notes from Sunday morning. I pulled out my Bible. And I began to wrestle with this fear inside of me. This fear of inadequacy, of failure, of never being good enough to be someone’s other half.

When I read Ephesians 5 at the height of my feminism, I was focused on submission. On the concept that some day I was going to have to listen to a man, just because he’s a man. Oh my, was I wrong. Ephesians 5 is about love. It’s about perfect, Christ-given love. Now, Elizabeth brought up some amazing points. But what I walked away with, more than anything, is this:

You cannot love perfectly without learning how to be loved perfectly.

You hear that? Step one is learning how to be loved perfectly. Never, have I ever been comfortable with the idea of someone loving me perfectly. Not even Christ. It’s a lot. A lot of pressure. A lot of thought. A lot to take in that everything God said or did or sacrificed, was for me. I always assumed in my head that it was for the people who deserved it, and I just got to experience it as a result. I believed that God died for the people willing to work for it, but because of my past, decisions I’ve made, things I’ve said or done, I didn’t get the direct reward of perfect love. And so, I’ve never really accepted this perfect love for me. But here’s the deal, that perfect love does so much! It casts out fear. That, in and of itself, is more than I could ever do for myself. And perfect submissive love calls us to do so much. To give up our dreams, our desires, our comforts, just as Christ did when he came to the earth to live as a man before becoming the ultimate sacrifice.

1 John 4:7-21 tells us about God existing as Love. Verse 17 says, “By this love is perfected with us, so that we may have confidence for the day of judgment.” It doesn’t say “we don’t have to face the day of judgment”. It doesn’t say “the day of judgement will be easy”. It says “we may have confidence”. We are able to push through our trials, our fears, our preoccupations, by the confidence given to us by the perfect love of God. We are able to die to self, to set aside pride, to be the epitome of love, by the perfect love of God.

Verse 7-8 reads, “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.” 

Again we see the theme. You cannot love perfectly without learning how to be loved perfectly.

So here I sit, writing an insanely long blog post about a struggle I just encountered yesterday. But after finding myself broken and crying out to God last night, I wake up in the confidence and perfected love of God. And I finally realize that whether or not I deserve it, I have it. I have this never-ending, can’t even fathom it, love from God. And if I allow that to overflow within me, to fill up my cup, there’s no other result than allowing myself to be used as an instrument for His love. I’m not saying it’s going to be perfect from here on out. There’s a lot of dying-to-self I still have to encounter. There are going to be trials. But I have identified and surrendered my fear of never earning love, as well as my fear of receiving love. So, we’ll see how this goes. I appreciate your prayers, feedback, and yes, love.

In Christ,

Kate