It is lonesome out here in Christian Singletown. I specifically identify the Christian nature as my identity is in Christ. But while a sermon in Church is always beneficial to me, fellowship is, well, sort of non-existent. While I have been able to at least meet people through serving (I'm speaking of families, not, you know, men), feeling apart of people's lives has been very rare. I love my church, but what I am finding about many churches is that the people in them often have a narrow view of fellowship - especially when it comes to people who are spouseless and childless. And it is starting to break my small heart.
I do not want to turn this into a whining or complaining post. I've obliged on that front plenty; but I do want to share that this is still a problem. Some of us are still invisible. Some of us (okay, me) feel excluded from life because we're often treated like we haven't reached a sort of Christian fullness. More than the loneliness I feel from being without a husband and children is the loneliness I feel secreted by Christians who aren't inviting to (or unaware of) people who have a dramatically different timeline than they do. That does not mean inviting people to everything. It also doesn't mean forgetting about them or assuming that their desire for inclusion is based on marital status.
At our women's retreat this spring, I shared that the greatest thing I wanted out of fellowship was intimacy. While I won't even pretend that I just might not have some fundamentally repulsive flaw that keeps people away, the pain of disconnection is creating a deep well in my heart. I shared that, often, I feel forgotten about and excluded, not intentionally, because I do not fit the prevailing demographic of my church. I was told as a child it was impolite (ugh, I hate that notion) to invite yourself somewhere. Some of us wait on hospitality, hoping to connect as we bubble under that rule of trying to be polite and not a bother.
I feel that, while the torch of being single in the southern church (let's put it that way, since, truly that's where I am) is difficult to bear in its own right, it would be vastly more palatable and manageable if single people could feel invited to the lives of others - we feel fulfillment in being of use and valued when invited to people's homes. Somehow, some way, spiritual children are born and reared, but how singles have spiritual children these days is hard to see in my view. Some see you as less Christian or that something is wrong with you if your path hasn't quite lined up with the status quo - while unspoken, we humans know how to clearly communicate without words, we must agree.
Perhaps I'm one of few single Christians who feels this way and the problem is unique to me. While I hope (and pray) that it's not because I wear people repellent, I cannot rule it out as a possibility. And there is always the painful and real truth that I could just be rejected based on the fact that I am obese. I'm not unaware that that happens nor can I cast judgment on those who do it. Sometimes you just want to know it's not you, I suppose. Nevertheless, the current cross of singleness I bear could be less painful. Ultimately, I will continue to take this to the cross, but still wanting to be transparent about life (and help my fellow "you aren't crazy" crazies), I wanted to share.
