Single people don’t get to have interpersonal tension prayer requests.
If you are married and you say, “Listen, I’m having romantic feelings for somebody other than my spouse,” everybody’s radar goes off and everybody swoops in to pray for you and support you in faithfulness to your marriage vows. If you are single and you say, “Listen, I’m having romantic feelings for somebody and I don’t feel right about it,” the swooping will mostly be from people telling you you’re probably just afraid and offering to help you pick out a wedding venue.
Because the thing about being single, at church anyway, is that married people tend to assume that your biggest problem is a desperate, gnawing sense of profound loneliness. It isn’t. It’s not even what every single single person feels is their biggest problem.
I feel like my biggest problem as a single person is that I’m attracted to the Wrong Sort of man. This is largely based on internal categories that I won’t go into, because this isn’t a personal ad, but suffice it to say that I have often, often asked God to take away feelings for some man or other because they have thrown off my focus and my sense of perspective. And despite the testimony of a male friend who says that in those situations he always just prayed and the feelings departed, and despite my struggling with the whys of my prayers not being answered, it has not ever been that easy for me.
I always loved the Vulcans. (This will connect amazingly soon, I promise.) At first I loved them because they didn’t have to deal with emotion, and I thought that would be extremely convenient. Then I got really into Star Trek and learned that they did deal with emotion, exceptionally strong emotion—and they dealt with it through techniques and amazing self-control. I loved that even more.
My biggest problem as a single person is my biggest problem as a person—I would like to be in control of my own life. In pretty much every way. I want to keep my emotions in check; I want to hold back from blushing; I want to read people with the exactness of a telepath. Even in the times I want to give up control, it’s usually just wanting to give it up in specific ways that enhance my comfort.
What if this isn’t God toying with me, but simply reminding me, all too frequently for my liking, that I’m not Him? What if God likes to show me, misconceived attraction after misconceived attraction, that He loves me too much to give me everything I ask for in the instant I ask for it?
What if wrestling to surrender is more precious to Him than placid assuredness?
