For as long as I can remember, I have dreamed of romance. Whether it was the sweet desire to weave my fingers together with someone else’s or the strange pull in my gut to grab that guy in math class and kiss him on the lips, I have wanted a man to love me for a very long time. And, despite all of my best longings (and my worst ones), very few men have expressed an interest.

When I was younger, it was easier. I could push it off. I could tell myself I still had so much time. I could comfort myself with the promise of college, the hope of the future, the beauty of the unknown. But as life progressed and singleness continued, the hope that once kept me going began to feel frivolous at best and far too costly at worst. What was the point, if they all ended up saying the same thing after a while?

Give me love or give me death

I caught feelings earlier this year. (Okay, to be completely honest, I caught the feelings last year, but they’ve grown much deeper roots this year.) And even though I didn’t know the object of my affections all that well at the time, I knew enough to know how our conversation would go. If I dared to tell him how I felt, he’d give some version of the same line they all seem to say: You are such a great friend. In an effort to avoid the friend line and in another effort to keep God at the center of my hopes, I began to pray.

In the beginning, the prayers felt right. I told God I liked this man. I told God I’d like if this man could like me back. I told God to direct me toward any steps I should take. And I waited.

My feelings grew. My insecurities reared their ugly heads. My fear shoved my rationality out of the driver’s seat, took the wheel, and brought me screaming down a road I’d hoped was closed a while back.

The prayers changed. The tears flowed. I told God I liked this man. I told God I really, really wanted a man. I told God that if it wasn’t this man, fine, but it needed to be a man and it needed to be soon. I told God I didn’t want to feel these horrible, crushing feelings anymore and so He’d better give me a man. I told Him give me a man or take away my pain. I told Him things like “Surely You don’t want me to be in pain? You love me and You have good gifts for me, so give me the gift of releasing me from this pain.”

Give me love, or kill this thing inside of me that’s longing for it. Fulfill this desire or take it away.

Ask and you shall receive. Sometimes.

God did not take away the pain. God did not magically open that man’s eyes and turn his face toward me. God did not tell me I’ll never marry, but He didn’t tell me I will, either. He just…let me cry.

When the weight of my feelings threatened to crush me, I gave up. I told God fine. I told Him I didn’t know what to pray for anymore. I told Him I needed help.

He didn’t send me a husband, but He did send me an important reminder.

After expressing these difficult feelings to some trusted confidants, one of them pointed out that I was basically giving God an ultimatum. I was boxing Him in with very specific stipulations and not allowing for the possibility that He could do something…else.

I was convinced that my solution was the only solution. That the best way to deal with the pain of heartache and rejection was to either fill that longing for a husband or remove the longing altogether. The logic follows, right? If you want something so much that it hurts you, either get the thing or stop wanting the thing. But I don’t think that’s what God wanted to show me.

Plan C

While I’d hardly say that I’m through all of this, I do have a better way of praying. It’s obvious and I feel silly for forgetting, but I’m in good company. Humans do that literally all the time, especially when it comes to God. He’s so big. His perspective is so broad. It’s hard to remember that His plan is the best plan, even when it doesn’t align with our plan.

Instead of my “give me love or give me death (to this very specific part of myself),” I have changed my prayers to “Not my will but Yours be done.” Not my will. Not my limited, boxed in, Plan-A-or-Plan-B will. His will. God’s will.

So far, everything is more or less the same. I’m still single. I’m still not sure I want to be. But I’m not drowning in a sea of hopeless feelings. I can inhale and exhale and know I am in good hands.

Maybe one day I’ll look back on this and smile. Maybe I’ll reach into the sad place inside of myself and comfort her, saying “If you only knew of the love you’d soon receive.” And maybe that love will be the love of a husband. Or, maybe instead, it’ll be another kind of love.

God is not a small god. His plans are not short-sighted or selfishly motivated. And while my picture of the future may be totally off base, He has the power and compassion and grace to help me expand my imagination and move me towards a better picture.