Dynamite.

Note: People are probably tired of hearing my thoughts on singleness. Maybe you don't want to read this because I've already said too much. So don't. I won't blame you. But I always assume that what I feel and think might encourage at least one person, and so I take heart, and publish what oftentimes seems like redundancies. 
Jesus said a lot of things three times. 
I am most definitely not Jesus. But Eloise's Nanny also said a lot of things three times. And I'm kind of like her, so I figure it's okay to repeat myself. 
So. Here you go, here you go, here you go. 

I found myself apologizing the other day for being single. 

I’m sorry you're alone, I told myself. I’m sorry you’ve been passed by. I'm sorry you're missing out. I’m sorry no one wants you.

I wanted someone to say all of that to me so badly. To come up to me with open arms and press me against their chest so I could finally just cry out those tears that have been brimming. But no one was there, so I said it to myself. 

But I didn't cry. Not like I thought I would
Instead I felt sick.

We are constantly apologizing for or are being apologized to, because we are single. And I see now that that is wrong. We don't have to apologize for being alone. You don’t have to apologize to me because I am alone. It’s not bad. It’s not a mistake. It’s not a sin. I am not single because no one’s noticed me or I didn't notice the right person. I am not single because I’m selfish. I am not single because the men I know are selfish. I didn't walk by my husband in the coffee shop and miss him. I didn’t deny someone’s pursuit even though I shouldn't have. I am not unattainable nor perfect. I am not a "Paul," and destined to go at it by myself. I want a husband. I want a family. I want to be loved and cherished and have someone devoted wholly to me. I want a human, a man, to be gentle and honest and transparent with.

Yet I am alone.

But I refuse to apologize for that anymore. Like I messed up somewhere along the way or missed my chance. And I don't want you to tell me that you’re sorry for me anymore. As if being alone is bad, and I only get half of a life. 

A big part of why being single is hard, is because we act like it’s wrong. 

Yes, marriage is a beautiful design, fashioned by the hand of the Carpenter. He intends for us to love and be loved. But when we walk around in despair because we don’t have that in the way we think we should, and then other people around us attempt to comfort us and tell us that someday we’ll get there, as if we are destined to reach that, we will always be unhappy. 

We will always be apologizing for being alone. 

It’s not okay. And I am not okay with it anymore. I'm done with it. I'm done with being pitied and pitying myself. I wrote that in my journal, those words, and then I also wrote,

So here's to being dynamite. 

Because I want to make a difference. I want to be big and blossoming and a giver. I want to shoot off sparks and blaze up the pathways of life. I want to be a world shaker, and I'll be darned if you tell me I will only be half as good without a husband while I do that. And I'll be darned if you think I am a lost cause or a sad case or not as influential as I could be. And I'll be darned if you think the most important thing in life for a woman to have is a rock that sparkles on her finger, because the truth is, she's what sparkles and if you don't see that, look again. We are who we make ourselves out to be. I am lit, for the cause for Christ. And I refuse to be put down or to put myself down because I have yet to fulfill a divine construction that God gifted us with. There is no excuse, and no excuse is necessary. 

I once wrote the words,

Why is it that we make excuses for singleness?

It's not a disease. It's not a sin. It's not a personal failure. It's not a shortcoming. It's not the edge of a cliff. It's not something you should have to reassure yourself it is okay to be. It's not God's obvious will for your life forever since nothing else is on the horizon. It's not a problem. It's not a bad thing. It's not because you're not trying. It's not a season of your life to 'date' Jesus instead of a boyfriend. It's not your church's fault. It's not something to be ashamed of. It's not the definition of you.

If you are under the impression that any of those is correct, I regret to inform you that being single is simpler than all that. 

Being single is just you, alone. It means that you are alone, you are one person, you are yourself. It is just a fact. And you have no need of defending or refuting it. Your only task is to live it.

Don't get me wrong, it's alright to fail at embracing your current state of being and get mad that no one puts their arm around your shoulders, but at the end of the day, you have to recognize that this is what it is. You have to stop looking for something better, other than being better. 

You are singular. 

And the less time you spend dwelling on and despising that fact, the more time you will have to do beautiful things. 

Don't make yourself out to be half a person. I dare you not to. Because trust me, you can do wondrous things for Christ now. 

Alone. 

Doing lovely things alone is not an impossible feat. 

If there is one thing I would add to that, it is this.

Singleness is not something we have to apologize for. If anything, what we owe an apology for, is the fact that we are lazy, and we are not dynamite, because we are too busy saying sorry for something we shouldn't be saying sorry for. We are too afraid to be bright, as if it is an inconvenience, to be a solitary mess of atoms and shine the most radiantly. 

Just because you are alone, does not mean you cannot be incandescent. 

I am actually good at being alone. I realized that a few months ago, on a blustery morning. I was walking towards campus, just coming from Starbucks, iced coffee in hand and the wind whipping my hair about my face while thunder rolled up above but the rain had yet to arrive, and I took stock of myself. A smile had creased the sides of my mouth for the past half hour, and as I heard my sandals slap on the concrete and pressed my fingers against a hole in the thigh of my jeans and glanced at the black gouache staining the back of my hands and wrists I thought, I'm happy. And I stuttered a little, because it was only a few weeks before that that I penned the words in my journal, There is no silver lining. But that morning, there was. There was a silver lining, and I was living in it. I was happy.
I am happy.
Most of my days are spent alone. Yes, surrounded by people oftentimes, but more often in solitude. I've taken to cultivating the garden of my heart, curating the collections of my bones, attempting to speckle wisdom throughout me and around me.

I am getting over myself, and I am brilliant and beaming and alone and I refuse to apologize for that. And you shouldn't apologize to me for it either. I'm not saying I will leave the wishing and wanting for a husband in the wake of doing all these lovely things whilst I am alone. 

What I am saying, is that I am determined to run into him while I am doing all these lovely things alone.

I don't want my future lover to find me pining away in self-pity and the pity of others while he has been a mountain climber and dream-chaser all this time. I want him to find me in a collision of luminosity while I am pioneering changes and making things better for those who need it.

I got to talk with one of my good friends the other week, and I told her this. Not in so many words, but the meaning came across. And she expressed everything I've felt while trying to come to this realization and conclusion. It's not fair, when you really think about it. I'll be honest, it's not fair. Because yes, time goes on and seems like it runs out, and one morning you're nineteen and on fire and don't care that no one loves you yet because you're going to do great things, and the next moment you're twenty-five and no one still loves you yet and you're tired of doing great things and it seems like everyone else has everything you ever wanted. It's really not fair.
But I am a big believer that life isn't fair, and it never will be. And I don't want to live a life so wrapped up in the belief that I am insufficient or dull or less luminous because some guy never asked me to marry him, that I don't do the things I should. That is such a waste; that is what is pitiful; that is what we must needs apologize for.

I do want to mention that the Church is guilty in all of this as well. We have approached singleness as if it's something we need to fix, or it's a season, or a ministry, when really it's just a bunch of people who need to be told they're capable–because they are. We have been foolish. We have acted as if we can cure people, or as if someone might be missing out because they haven't achieved the status of wife or husband, or as if one person is insufficient compared with a team of two. That's sad. That makes me sad. I don't want the Church to look at me anymore and say, Are you married yet? Do you need a boyfriend? Don't worry, we'll find you someone, and then you can be so close to Christ you'll never believe it...You're missing out. You need your other half. You'll never fully understand Christ's love till you're in the arms of that guy. I'm so tired of hearing things like that. I just want her to say to me, What are you doing for Christ? Because all throughout the Bible, God makes it so clear that singularity is key. Singularity is important. It's like we missed it and messed it up. Somewhere along the way, we forget that the whole point of marriage is for two people to become one. One. Single. Person. That's it. That's what marriage is, making one person. So why do we continue to sell other people short? It is ridiculous, the manner in which we approach the Christian life and walk. A couple is one. Yes, they are two people, but that does not mean they have twice the impact or twice the power or twice the influence that someone else has for Jesus. They are simply working together to do awesome things, while another is working to do awesome things as well.
The moment we recognize marriage as a beautiful picture that God designed and everyone gets to desire, but no one is promised, is the moment that people will get over themselves.
Marriage is most definitely God's intention for men and women [Genesis 2:18], but it is not a requirement.
Honestly? The Church doesn't need to "minister" to single people in the way that she does. They aren't broken. Yes, they need exhortation and encouragement and strengthening of faith, but most importantly, they need to be reassured that God created humans as capable creatures, and they are one of those capable creatures.
The less time we spend hanging out together trying to find a partner for this battle of life, means that we have more time to build wondrous things for the Carpenter.

I don't just want to meet some guy anymore. I want us to be holding hammers, knee deep in mud, arms covered in a brother's blood and someone else's load on our backs, fierceness written on our bones, and I want to look him in the eye and him to realize that we didn't spend our time waiting for each other, but dared to meet one another in the field.
I want miles of white out there when I fall in love, because I want to be in the middle of the harvest.
I want a marriage that starts in the middle of John 4:35. 

So here's to meeting in the trenches of life, blazing like none other. 

Here's to shining so bright you blind the ones you're helping.

Here's to setting everything behind you afire.

Here's to doing lovely things alone.

Here's to owning all of this.

Here's to being dynamite. 

A book of flowers

Apparently, I am frustrated. I swear that I'm trying really hard not to be. But still. I noticed it last night as I laid on my bedroom floor and painted abstract florals and a few valentines. My hands had been shaking, but they stopped halfway through, and I noticed my shoulders loosening and a load falling off.
This quarter has been a very difficult one.
In a way, I feel like I'm only making it through because of John Keats and C. S. Lewis and tea. Literally, I make enough tea to share with a table-full of people every morning, and I drink it. All by myself. Because no one (aside from the lovely A) is here and no one has come here.

I miss my family.

I think you should all know, there is a context to this. As I expressed above, this term is a beast. I have yet to find any work. I've been comparing myself far too much again. They cut a bunch of programs at my school. Doubt is my constant companion. And thus far this year — but really, it's only February — I have had four sets of friends get engaged.

I really miss my family.

I was remembering last night, whilst mixing up some pale pink and peach because I don't have those colors of gouache. I remembered that when I was really little, my mom used to wash my hair over the stainless steel sink in our kitchen. Light and suds would spill everywhere, and the water was always just warm enough. Then she would trim my split ends and we would scatter them off the porch in the backyard for the birds to use in their nests. 
I had forgotten about that.

The truth is, I want a family. That has become painfully obvious to me. My heart has been thrumming full of the reasons I chose to go to school in the first place, and honestly? Many of them had to do with my children. How I wanted my children to be able to come to me ask me about the color of Neptune and how to use a microscope and what Shakespeare really meant, and I would have some of those answers for them. I have always wanted that for them.
But a family is not an option right now. That is not on my horizon. As far as I can tell, there's not even any broad shoulders and strong forearms reaching for me yet. Nothing, no one, not at all. I just stand alone in my kitchen and make butter and chocolate cake and read about Christopher Robin and listen to La Traviata on repeat and wonder about what to do after next year.

And so, I miss my family.

I really want to go home. I thought I would before spring break, but now the roads are an utter mess, and there's really no chance of that happening. Now I'll just have to bide my time and paint more small illustrations and prints. Now I will have to be alone for awhile longer.
I am actually learning to appreciate that, being alone. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I am.
There is something sacred and gorgeous about knowing yourself so well from your experiences of solitude and quiet breathing.
I have had many of those as of late. And so many magical memories that have been keeping me awake.

I started a book. It is full of good, lovely things I will do with my daughters and sons. Maybe you will read it someday. Or maybe you will see it.
I have hope for the latter one.

Wholeness is lilies

My face was red, I could feel it. The pink, insistent blush creeping up my throat and onto my cheeks, deepening constantly. And I actually threw up my hands in desperation. I don't get it, I whispered to the carpenter under my breath and I pressed my forehead against the wooden table. Am I supposed to get it? Because I really don't, I told Him. I just really don't get it.
I was her. The small woman at her kitchen table two nights ago, reading. I was reading blog posts and magazine articles and listening to sermons about singleness late into the night when suddenly I felt tears pressing on the corners of my eyes and the blush blossoming across my face. They were wonderful. Truly, everything I read and listened to was wonderful.
But they were too much.

I am so tired of everyone telling me what I should or shouldn't feel.

sometimes i am married to bear grylls and we have lunch dates with robert downey jr. and his wife. she and i are good friends.

dear fleur.
tandy mandy wrote a cute post on 'sometimes.' i think i'll be a copycat and do one too.

sometimes i rub my eyes for 5 minutes straight.

sometimes i pretend that i'm married to robert downey jr. sometimes i only wear tights. sometimes i wake up and sew for 6 hours in my pajamas. and then i eat lunch. sometimes i take a nap on the floor. sometimes people look at me funny when i tell them i like the opera. sometimes i read french books. and i don't speak french.
sometimes my toenails turn black because i run too much.
sometimes i want a bathrobe.
sometimes there is no one at home, so i play the beatles as loud as i can and eat cottage cheese.
sometimes i think i'm crazy.
sometimes i watch bear grylls by myself.

tomight i watched bear grylls with franny and tandy and mamie.
want to know a secret?

i want to marry someone named bear. that is my dream. and if i don't, i will name my first little boy 'bear.'
laugh all you want.
i think that is soooooooooo rad.
i will name them,
bear.
and madeline.
and rosamund.
and i will be so happy.

i just need to find a husband.

just kidding.
i can name my dolls that if i never get married.

kidding. again.

love, bell.

EDIT: sometimes i want to get married, just to name little boys and girls.