Alive

This is a photo of me playing with my cat. You can't see the orange fluffball at the top of the photo? Ah, that's because he's a macho-man cat whose camouflage stealthily matches the floor.

Disclaimer: I'm not writing this to say that everybody has to believe the exact same things I do or have the exact same life I have. I'm just writing this to process some stuff in my life, some stuff I've been through, and to solidify its validity. And I'm processing lots of different things in my head right now, but I'll do my best to keep my ideas focused for you here.

"And I said, 'This is my anguish; but I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.' I will remember the works of the Lord; surely I will remember Your wonders of old. I will also meditate on all Your work, and talk of Your deeds." (Psalm 77:10-12)

The evening after Valentine's Day, I took a brief look around my apartment and said, "I've kept myself alive for the past 15 months." I went through a major wringer almost immediately after moving into this place almost 15 months ago (if you read any of my blog posts from 2013, perhaps you got wind of it), not necessarily because of its location but because of the myriad of disappointments that I worked through while I've been here and, well... I think maybe God just wanted to pull me aside for a while and squeeze some stuff out of me. And I think He's still doing it, at least to a degree.

So, Valentine's Day was a few days ago. Of course, it's a bittersweet day in general -- bitter for those of us who believe that it's the worst holiday ever, and sweet for those of us who have someone special to celebrate the holiday with. Honestly, that's really all I would want on Valentine's Day. Forget the flowers, candy, and chocolates. I'd rather just have a husband. But since I don't have one, and since I'm working through a season of depression, of course I've been doing some Valentine's Day debriefing.

The only other time in my life when I had a significant other on Valentine's Day was 20 years ago, Valentine's Day 1994. (I've decided to not count the boyfriend I had in elementary school who never, ever spent time with me and who had another girlfriend. I hope he didn't grow up to become a deadbeat polygamist or something like that.) In 1994, I was a senior in high school, and I had a boyfriend who was really more of a secret fiancé. For Valentine's Day that year, if I remember correctly, he left me a dozen red roses on the porch of my house. I'm pretty sure he left them there anonymously, even though I knew they were from him, because I was hiding our relationship from my (ex) parents. (I don't recommend doing that, by the way.) It was a very nice, romantic gesture, of course.

A few months after that, he asked my (ex) parents for my hand in marriage, and then I unfortunately broke up with him because I realized that I didn't really love him. That is another story in and of itself, but I mention it to give you an idea of my (voluntary) background with Valentine's Day, romance, etc. After I broke up with him, I went off to college and haven't dated anyone else since. That part was 100% involuntary, because I dreamed of meeting a boy at school and getting married around age 22, but no boy returned my feelings for him. Hi, I'm Tirzah; I'm 37 years old, and have I mentioned that I deal with rejection?

So, it's been 20 years since my last (and first) real Valentine's Day. I mention that not to fish for pity but to set you up for the earful (or eyeful) of opinion that you're about to read. I've been through pretty much every emotion you can think of regarding singlehood. I've heard pretty much every theory you can think of regarding how to snag a husband. And I've been tempted with pretty much anything you can think of. (On second thought, don't think about it.)

So, here's where I am today. I think I'm somewhere between "I'm trusting God for my future spouse" and "I've given up hoping for a future spouse." I don't think this a despairing place, and I hope this isn't a hardened place. I hope this is more of a "I really don't care if I get married someday or not, because I've lived just fine without a husband" place. (It probably depends on the day. Yesterday, I was like, "I DON'T WANT A HUSBAND!" Today, I was like, "I want a husband someday. Swoon.")

Of course, I can't take all the credit for my life, and I certainly don't want to. John 15 says that apart from Jesus I can do nothing. I would completely disintegrate if it weren't for God, who is the One who picks me up and puts me back together again whenever I fall apart. I need Him. He's the only One I can count on to comfort me. Without Him, I'm toast. So, He's the One who's been sustaining me. He's the One who's been blessing me. And yet, this is the life that I've been living. I think you could say that He and I have been doing this thing called "life" together. He IS my life. In a sense, He HAS BEEN my Husband.

With that in mind, I'm in awe of the things that I've accomplished with Him in the 20 years that I've been husbandless, fiancéless, and boyfriendless. In the past 20 years, I have...

- kept myself alive

- graduated from college

- written a stage play

- disowned myself from family and grieved their loss

- learned how to overcome depression

- allowed dreams to die and allowed myself to dream new dreams

- written approximately 40 songs

- written at least 187 blog posts

- discovered that I am right-brained

- had countless crushes on men

- worked through / resolved homosexuality issues and tendencies

- discovered heavy metal and contemporary Christian music

- lived in 3 different cities, 5 if you count the suburbs, relocating multiple times

- almost finished purchasing a car

- worked for multiple employers / been unemployed multiple times

- acquired two cats and kept them alive

I think that's quite a list. I'm not bragging; I'm just amazed at how much life can be accomplished without a husband. Or pre-husband.

I haven't completely rejected the idea of finding a husband. I'm still completely open to the idea of a Prince Charming sweeping me off into the sunset as romantically or as unromantically as can be. (By "Prince Charming," I mean "a guy who actually returns my feelings for him and who actually asks me out.") What I mean is that for most of my life, I was prepped for adulthood with "When you get married" or "When you have children" or "When you find a husband," etc., etc., etc. But these "When you"s haven't happened yet. What if they never will? Why should I sit on my hands and wait to live my life? Life as I know it is right under my nose right now. There's no reason for me to not live it. There's no guarantee that a husband will ever show up.

No, I'm not going to throw myself at a man out of desperation. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, picked up the pieces. But that is my personal decision: If a man wants me, he's going to have to chase after me, because I'm worth chasing after. I refuse to water down my personality or compromise any of the way that God made me just so I can attract somebody whose cluelessness I will have to compensate for till death do us part. (I've seen examples of that already. No, thank you.) I want a healthy man who wants me enough to pursue me.

Otherwise, sorry, but I have a life to live. Husband or not, I gotta be me. If I see Jesus walking in a certain direction, I must follow Him. He's where the life is. God is my family now, and we're doing family things together. In this season, He and I are tackling depression together.

Life is a very fragile thing. For years, I believed that having a husband was required to live any of it. But in the midst of life's fragility, I can still gird myself with strength and be a trustworthy person. Why do I have to be married to be a Proverbs 31 woman?

So, in the aftermath of what is perhaps the most dreaded holiday known to humankind, I am still alive, and I am loving every breath that flows in and out of these thankful, redeemed, empowered lungs.

Also, for the record, I've never owned a bicycle, and I never learned how to ride a bicycle, so I don't really want to ride my bicycle, bicycle, bicycle. I just like to listen to the Queen song for the extremely cool musical texture, harmonies, and chord progression. And I like to replace the "Fat Bottomed Girls" line with my own line: "Large Muscled Men." Heh.