My friend Sarah is in a hard marriage.
Each day it takes tons of energy for her to be a mom to her four children. To be a wife. To be a person.
Some days it’s hard for me to be a person too.
I’m no longer married, but as Sarah and I journey together and navigate holidays, friendships, and parenting, we experience a similar sting of absence. Some of our single friends do too.
We feel lonely. And we’d love to be loved.
Blossoming amid Pain
A few months ago Sarah told me about some vulnerable children who were on her radar. She was seeking discernment and resources in order to advocate for them. As she engaged on behalf of these little ones, I saw my friend—who daily had every reason to feel angry, sad, and afraid, and no doubt did feel those feelings most days—vivified as she cared for others. As Sarah took action on behalf of these kiddos, she came to life. I saw, with my eyes, the woman God had made her to be, the woman she was before her life got really messy.
And while her life was messy.
Sarah didn’t find life because she received exactly what she needed from a loving partner. It’s been a long time since she has. In the midst of her precarious circumstances, Sarah experienced joy and satisfaction when she offered others exactly what they needed.
The Surprise of Joy
I know, I know. At first blush it sounds horrible and codependent, but hear me out.
The invitation to love others—the way God has loved us and the way we love ourselves, both notably generous ways—is woven throughout Scripture. But too often, we hear it as an order rather than a gift: “Dear friends, since God loved us that much, we surely ought to love each other” (1 John 4:11). We get tangled up with the ought.1