32,000 Miles Above Normal

Anyone who knows me would agree that I am a romantic. I always have been. I could give a litany of examples, but if in doubt, please take my word for it. And I'm not talking about the flighty chick flicks, the teenage romances. I mean the real stuff, the epic, the sprawling, the life-long. And while I love the stories--books, movies, oral histories--I want my own more than I can describe. More than anything else of this world, I want the big epic love story. And by that, I don't mean a perfect unblemished fairy tale. I know perfectly well that love is hard work, and commitment still harder--I have the familial history to prove it. But still I want it. A friend of mine pegged this desire well a few years ago, specifying that I didn't want to "get married," I wanted to "be married;" I don't want a wedding day as much as I want a 50th anniversary party, if you will. It's not about designing a perfect wedding day (though I plan on having a killer wedding bash, let's not kid around), but about craving the relationship and intimacy of marriage. 

It's sad to me that the last phrase there has lost its power in the last century or so. I don't mean to romanticize the past, but only to say that the cultural understanding of marriage has become something different, something less than it was. And unfortunately, even in a faith community that talks a great deal of "the sanctity of marriage," the generic American Christian community has proved no better at keeping its vows than anyone else.

But I meander off my topic. (Surprise, surprise.)

I want to get married. 

I have no guarantee of it. (Cue the well-meant contradictions here; but you can't guarantee it, either.) That's not meant to be self-deprecating or negative, it's just the truth. 

I do have some evidences, I suppose: I find it troublesome to think that God would wire me to be so geared toward the romantic if He weren't planning on using the wiring. I've felt, from time to time, inclinations pointing me in the direction of marital love. (Any details thereof would lead to labels of crazy or worse, so I'll stay vague.) And most of the time, I have a pretty vaguely-hopeful attitude about it--a well-adjusted "someday my prince will come" mindset. 

But at the moment i am several miles over Connecticut or so, and sitting on airplanes tends to bring out the introspective in me. Something about sitting so high above the world brings on a natural inclination to perspective-shift, I suppose. 

So this afternoon I find myself wondering. Not in depression or fear or anxiety, but just hanging the question out there among the clouds to my right. 

What if I doesn't happen? Can I be satisfied in my life without this thing I want most? And the subtext of that question, Would I allow God to change my heart so that it's NOT what I desire most?

Because I can't get behind a doctrine that says God wants us pining for something He doesn't intend to give. If we're desiring something that's not meant for us, there's a breakdown in communication. So my options are A) I am getting married eventually, just not tomorrow, or B) I'm resisting His desire to shape and refine my own. 

I asked the question silently, calling it over rippling oceans of cloud. And I don't hear them echo back, "Yes; May 23, 2014. His name is Beauregard and you look lovely." But neither do I hear--by which I mean, feel any inclination toward a "No." But do I read into that?

I'm reminded of something I heard once, regarding seeking where God wants you to go: "You put your 'yes' on the table; God will put it on the map."

If I'm going anywhere in this rambling, I guess it's here: I don't know, and the not knowing is okay. I am what seems to be a dying breed: the truly, contentedly single. God sets the desires of my heart, and He intends to give them to me in divine timing, unfolding a plan of the most complex, beautiful, perfect design. Whatever it is, I'm confident it will blow my mind, knock the wind out of me, and drop me to my knees.

That's good enough for me.