All's fair in love and laundry

Disclaimer: I hope the reader understands that I am not pressuring anyone into embracing a certain theology or becoming exactly like me or anything like that. I mean, this is my blog. This is where I process stuff (the stuff that I'm comfortable sharing publicly on this particular forum). Meanwhile, if reading about my life helps you process what's happening in your life, then glory hallelujah, and mission accomplished. Regardless, thank you in advance for reading.

The title of this post ran through my head while I was at the beautiful coin laundromat this afternoon. For the past (nearly) 3 years, I've lived in a small apartment without a washer or dryer, on purpose, because the rent is cheaper, there isn't any dryer lint to clean, there isn't any electricity or water to use on laundry appliances, and it gets me "out of the house" once a week.

Since I've been doing this for (nearly) 3 years, I should know by now that this is the time of year when everybody comes out of the woodwork to wash their blankets. This wouldn't be a big deal, except that the people who do this usually use about 5 or 6 washers and dryers simultaneously. Sure, it's convenient for the seasonal blanket-washers. But it's inconvenient for us small-apartment people who show up at the beautiful coin laundromat every week just so that we can have clean clothes to wear. Today, I had to wait a fairly long while for some dryers to become available. There were about 5 or 6 dryers that had finished, but the owners of the blankets/clothes were taking their sweet time to claim their garments. (Whenever that would happen in the college laundromats, it was perfectly kosher to empty the finished dryers, set the clean clothes aside in a pile somewhere, and claim the dryer for yourself; however, I don't think that type of thing would fly at the laundromat in da hood.)

So, today, when the laundromat was very crowded, I had to do some sneaky and fancy footwork to wash and dry my clothes, barely beating other people to the open appliances. Next week, I'll try to get there earlier in the afternoon, but this week as I was hanging some of my nicer clothes on my hangers in the parking lot, the phrase "All's fair in love and laundry" ran through my head. I hope the people traveling on the adjacent highway appreciated the fact that I wasn't folding my underwear in the parking lot.

I think my brain got the idea for the abovementioned phrase from an episode of The Cosby Show where Heathcliff steals Rudy's orange juice and justifies his actions by saying, "All's fair in love and breakfast." (She vindicates herself by doing the same thing to him later in the episode.)

Of course, the original saying is "All's fair in love and war." If you were to look up the definition of this original saying, Google would tell you that it means that you do what you gotta do to reach a certain goal. In other words, if you see someone/something you want, go after him/her/it, and don't let anything or anyone stand in your way.

Well, sometimes life works that way, and sometimes it doesn't.

 

Lately, Choochie has developed the habit of staring at Macho while he eats. She finishes her meal (which I serve in another room), and then she trots over to Macho and stares at him while he finishes his meal. A few times, she has successfully reached around him and stolen some bites, and other times I'm afraid she's bullied him out of his spot. Perhaps she's finally paying him back for all those years that he bullied her nose out of her bowl and ate her food. But I try to come to Macho's defense whenever it seems feasible. I tell Choochie, "That's not yours." I already fed her the food that I purchased specifically for her. Her nose doesn't belong in Macho's bowl.

 

However, there are many places in my small apartment where Choochie is welcome. My multimedia library is just one example. See how roomy it is? I had originally planned to put a nice cat scratcher/playground there in the middle of the floor, but I changed my mind and opted for pillows instead. Choochie has a good view of the kitchen and the living room from her little perching spot there. And Macho is welcome to hang out in there as well.

For my cats, there are so many hangout options in my small apartment. There's no need for them to obsess over the areas that are forbidden to them.

Of course, it's the same way with me in God's house.

"Then Peter, turning around, saw the disciple... Peter, seeing him, said to Jesus, 'But Lord, what about this man?' Jesus said to him, 'If I will that he remain till I come, what is that to you? You follow Me.' " (John 21:20a, 21-22)

"But I want you to be without care. He who is unmarried cares for the things of the Lord -- how he may please the Lord. But he who is married cares about the things of the world -- how he may please his wife... A wife is bound by law as long as her husband lives; but if her husband dies, she is at liberty to be married to whom she wishes, only in the Lord. But she is happier if she remains as she is, according to my judgment -- and I think I also have the Spirit of God." (1 Corinthians 7:32-33, 39-40)

If you've followed my blog for the past several years, you know that I haven't had a date in more than 21 years, and that has NOT been voluntary. So, I've had to process it a lot over the years, and some of my posts on this subject have been pretty whiny. (Hey, when you grieve, that kind of comes with the territory. I think to a degree, grief-whining can be healthy.) But hopefully today's post will be the least whiny of them all.

Paul the Apostle was notorious in the Bible for being single and insisting that everybody else should be, too (unless they couldn't control their sexual desires). I've read the above passage in 1 Corinthians where he's like, "Eh, you don't need to get married; just stay single and be happy; it works for me, so it can work for you, too," and I'm like, "Look, buddy, that's easy for you to say; you don't have 39-year-old female hormones sprinting through your veins."

But now I think I understand what Paul was talking about.

Several nights ago, I had a surprise meltdown with God. I guess even when you spend 21+ years working through the rejection and bitterness of being involuntarily single, you still have huge Old-Faithful geysers of pain that spew out every once in a while. Well, the other night, I had had enough. I drew a line in the sand with God. I told Him that I don't want to spend any more of my heart dreaming about something that may never happen.

I'm done. I'm tired of dreaming about getting married someday -- about Prince Charming breezing into my life like a fairy tale, or stumbling into my life like a romantic comedy, or just calmly walking into my life like a regular guy, and doing all the right stuff to win my heart.

So, God talked me out of it, right? He rebuked my doubt and my unbelief, and He exhorted me to believe in His miraculous provision, right?

Wrong. He told me, "Why would you want a husband? You have Me."

I was reminded about the story in the Bible (1 Samuel 8) where the Israelites stubbornly wanted a king. But God didn't want Israel to have an earthly king; He wanted to reign over Israel Himself. Samuel the prophet tried to talk the Israelites out of demanding a king, because a king would tax them and impose all kinds of government stuff on them. But no, the Israelites wanted to have a king, just like all the other nations had. OK, fine. So, God gave them a king, who turned out to be a jerk (not God's fault). From then on, sometimes Israel had good kings that set excellent examples for worshiping God, and other times Israel had bad kings that set terrible examples and opened the door for Israel to get attacked by all kinds of enemies. Yeah, that's right. The type of authority you're under can make ALL the difference.

For me, the possibility of getting married someday has probably been THE vaguest area of my life -- in terms of hearing God's voice, in terms of knowing where to step, in terms of guarding my heart, etc. But lately while I've been embracing the possibility of remaining (involuntarily) single for the rest of my life, I feel like I've been able to hear God much more clearly in this area. He's impressed on my heart, "If I wanted to provide a husband for you, I would have done it by now." Indeed. Menopause is right around the corner. I'm about 80-90% sure that this marriage window of opportunity has closed for me.

And yet, it's the 10-20% chance that haunts me a little bit. There's always the possibility that God could change His mind and surprise me with a Prince Charming who wouldn't mind marrying a crazy cat lady whose idea of fun is playing video games on her phone on a Saturday night. If God were to make that happen, of course it would be awesome, and this entire blog post would be officially rendered as crap.

But meanwhile, there's work to do. Like Paul notoriously said in the Bible, we single ladies are free to focus on the things of God, rather than always having to worry about pleasing our husbands. Honestly, I can't imagine being able to do the things that I do in my life with a husband and/or children in the mix. I think if a husband were to suddenly fall out of the sky, I'd probably just treat the poor guy like arm candy -- some sort of trophy husband who looks good, stays at home, feeds my cats, and cleans house while I work 8 to 5 and spend gobs of time at church.

God recently spoke another clear thing to me while I was driving home from work one day. I was thinking about how this was a cool season for me, and God was like, "This isn't a season; this is your life."

This IS my life. Maybe years ago, God intended for me to get married, so maybe He placed that dream in my heart while I waited for Prince Charming to wake up and smell the coffee. But maybe the metaphorical coffee was never brewed, and Prince Charming either pursued other women, secretly became gay, or just never showed up for whatever reason. Why should God have to wait on some clueless guy? God designed a life for me to live, so He's going to help me live it, even if He's had to completely remodel my life and redesign His plans in the process. And why wouldn't He? All's fair in love and war. Perhaps at one point, God wanted me to fight this battle called life alongside a life-partner; but perhaps now, He's had to readjust His plans and reposition me on the battlefield. OK, world. Here we go. Give a warrior-princess some room to clutch her shield and swing her sword.

I repeat: I'm done.

When a dream dies, there's always some grieving involved, of course: the loss of something that will never be, the loss of someone who will never exist, the loss of lives that will never be touched. But sometimes when a dream dies, there's relief in releasing something that's already been in the process of dying for decades... especially if that something has been weighing heavily around your neck like a rotting albatross. Egad! Remove the putrid carcass from 'round my weary neck and allow me to run freely and fight valiantly without being weighed down in stench and death! I claim life!

No more "waiting for God's best." I'm already blessed with His best. No more wondering if I'm going to be domestic enough for a husband. I'm already plenty domestic for myself and my cats. No more feeling like I'm "going to waste" as an old maid. I'm already too busy "wasting" myself on Somebody who's already way more interested in me than any clueless boy could ever be.

"For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it." (Matthew 16:25)

Speaking of my readjusted life, God has poked His head into my day a couple of times and asked me, "Do you like it?" I'll be like, "Do I like what?" And He'll be like, "Your life." Yes, Father, thank You. I like it very much.

I'm sure that there will continue to be well-meaning people who show up in my life -- just like the seasonal blanket-washers at the beautiful coin laundromat -- and unintentionally wreak havoc for me by saying things like, "When you get married" or "When you have kids" or even "You won't be able to spend an hour getting ready in the mornings when you have kids." But I don't live to please them. I'm sorry if my life doesn't live up to their particular standards, but if they have a problem with it, perhaps they should take it up with the One whose idea it was in the first place.

I'm done comparing my life to other people's in the same way that Peter compared his life to John's. I'm tired of staring into other people's lives in the same way that Choochie stares at Macho's bowl while he eats his own food. I'm going to enjoy the place that God has set up for me in His house. I'm going to enjoy the food that He especially designed for me, served to me, and intended for me. If I don't eat it, who will?

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a banquet to chow down.