Singleversaries

Hold onto your seats, guys.
We're diving into Laura's relationship history.

I was once an angsty little teenager.
I had the biggest crushes of all time that nobody could understand. The closest thing I had to a relationship was an email exchange with a boy at church; otherwise, life was horribly sad because nobody wanted meeeee. My journal entries were complete with illustrations of my angst, including........nevermind. We'll leave those illustrations in the journals.

The summer I turned sixteen was the summer I finally obtained a boyfriend. Things got mushy pretty quickly and my sad journal illustrations were replaced with a few hearts and kissy lips. Even though we went to different schools, he and I were classic high school sweethearts and I was soon dreaming of wedding dresses and minivans.

It fell to pieces three years later, the summer after my freshman year of college. We broke up while I was counseling at a summer camp. The breakup was shattering, ten thousand times more dramatic than necessary, and it stretched out for several months afterwards.
But it was the push I needed.

I became a new Laura. One afternoon at camp, after feeling particularly unwanted, ugly, and unlovable (I'm so alliterative), I picked myself up and said NO. I was not any of those things--I was great and loved by many people, the events of the breakup were not my fault, and I WAS FREE, DANGIT. So I cranked up Beyonce, danced around my camp cabin with a broom, and started my journey to womanhood.

Single and getting ready to mingle.

I promised that I'd spend at least one year single, and after a sophomore year full of ups and downs that marked the growing pains of maturity, I celebrated my first "singleversary". I was pretty excited about it, actually, and felt proud for accomplishing the goal of remaining single.

Because, you know, all the boys had been knocking at my door.

Anyway, I was interning in Uganda that summer, so as soon as the singleversary was over, you bet your bottom dollar I was eyeing all the other young male interns.

In the meantime, I was working on my fashion sense and wife skills.

While my junior year of college passed with a little why-am-I-still-single angst, it was filled more with excitement over friendships that were blossoming in their third year. Those friendships became rich and close because I was able to really invest in them. It was the year of the Disney princess bed tent and Baba Larve, and I wasn't distracted by a boyfriend.
Or any potential of a boyfriend.

By my second singleversary, I was in a discipleship program. Still peeling my eyes for a mate, of course, but also making guy friends with dudes who made me feel VALUABLE without ROMANCE. And, for the first time, I actually felt led into a crush on a guy (it sounds weird, but bear with me) because of his faith, and then led back out of it. It helped me learn more about what I wanted in a husband.

Funny. That guy was a lot like Josh.

That summer, too, passed. Mateless.

Not without some date-fishing.

My senior year of college was a mess, between living in a house, student teaching, and preparing for my next yearlong journey. By my third singleversary, I was FREAKING OUT about going to China for a year of teaching while feeling extremely thankful that no boy was in the mess.

Practically beating the boys back with a hammer.

The year in China was like being put on the rack, stretching my maturity in ways I didn't want, but really needed. Even with teammates, I often felt isolated and lonely during the first few months. I had to learn to live in a cold, drafty apartment that smelled like old cabbage, sleep on a hard bed, and eat a lot of homemade stir fry because my cooking skills were less than exemplary.

Also, there were no English-speaking boys in sight.

Or maybe I couldn't see them behind all my COOL.

By my fourth singleversary, I was on my way back home, full of heartache from saying goodbye to all my students and anxiety over the future unknown. I was, however, feeling shockingly confident about my singlehood.

Which is good, because I spent the next several months subbing and working in my dad's gynecology office, both of which don't have many men.

In February, I headed for a short-term teaching position in Mongolia, where I finally did have a "fling".

(in mild terms)

It was exciting.

Exhilarating.

New.

And absolutely frustrating.

When I came home, I broke it off and grew about three more levels in my independent lady confidence. I had learned that I was attractive, interesting, and worth pursuing, but I didn't have to wait around with somebody who was the wrong fit.

By my fifth singleversary, I was helping at a camp in Spain, and I had written in my journal: 

"I don't regret my time of singlehood and I am thankful for where I've been led. Sometimes it's still a struggle to say 'Maybe, but not today'."

"Maybe, but not today" became my mantra for the days that I wanted to be in a relationship.

That Fall I started my first year of teaching, which was sleepless, anxious, and hard. Between 10-hour days and 11-hour weekends, there was no time for a relationship. I had enough love in my heart for my students...and not for a whole lot else.

I felt that way up until March.
A winter of snow days had left me well-rested and a little lonely.

I was restless.
Part of me wanted to move back overseas, and in my prayers I was telling God that I didn't see a point in being at home unless there was a man there.

BUT THERE WERE NO MEN IN SEVIER COUNTY THAT I WOULD WANT TO MARRY AND MAYBE I WASN'T EVEN GOING TO GET MARRIED SO UGH.

The next day, Audrey messaged Josh on facebook.

It soon became apparent that he would surpass all my expectations as a man who wanted to be a spiritual leader, who constantly valued me, who had similar goals in life...and who was sillier than I was.

But up until that point, neither of us was ready for the other. Because of circumstances in both of our lives, even a few weeks earlier would not have worked out for us. By the time that we started dating, it was obvious that we were supposed to get married.

I wouldn't have been so sure about him, though, if it weren't for all my experiences. I knew myself, knew how to have solid, loving relationships, and knew what qualities I wanted in a mate if I was going to have one.

From my first singleversary to my last, I had written a series of letters to my future husband. The tone of them changed over the years--what began as sorrow about being single turned into thankfulness that he wasn't there yet.

Rather than having the view of marriage as the goal, I now see it as a continuation of God's call. A new way to be molded.

I believe
there is value in both singlehood and marriage.

(Just wanted to make sure that message is clear.)

Our lives are meant to be a process of growing closer to God, and we can do that in either state. I am thankful for each and every one of my singleversaries, and for the opportunity to reflect on how God had provided for me by not giving me what I wanted.