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The Blessing of Dry Spells
by Camerin Courtney
August 6, 2003
It's Sunday afternoon, and for the first time in many months I left church earlier today with no lunch plans other than going home to peer into my fridge—alone. Driving home, I experienced a hollow feeling familiar from other eras when the friendship landscape has shifted, leaving me lunch "date"-less on God's day, a truly profane thing indeed.
You see, the committee I've been serving on at my church for the past three years—the one that's comprised my little community at our large, bustling body of believers and been the source of countless post-service lunch plans—is disbanding. In addition, a couple of the non-married members are starting to look for other churches with thriving singles ministries, since ours just went defunct.
And to make matters worse, one of my favorite work friends—the kind into whose office I pop to discuss everything from the latest reality TV show debacle to my confusion over how to tackle my latest work project—is moving out of state later this month.
So lately I've been feeling a little rootless and vulnerable. My "family" of friends is shifting, and I can see the impending loneliness like so many storm clouds gathering in the summer sky.
The way I see it, we each get two families—one we're born into and one we choose, either by marriage or close friendship. When you're single and don't live near your biological family, which accounts for a growing number of us in our increasingly mobile society, the latter category takes on huge significance, a fact that becomes painfully clear in friendship transition phases such as the one I'm in.
I feel as though I should be used to these transitions by now. In the nearly ten years I've been at my current job, I've had a veritable revolving door of best workplace buds. In fact, the first year I worked here I was blessed to find myself befriended by two great, godly women—a huge bonus since I was also new to the geographic area at that point. But I was devastated when one of them moved out of state a year after I started the job, and then the other one flew the coop six months after that. Suddenly I was back at square one.
As is often the case for singles, you can alter absolutely nothing about your life and your community will completely change around you as friends get married, have children, move to another area to pursue a better job (or to allow their spouse to do so), or decide to pursue ministry opportunities overseas. Though these are usually good transitions, happy occasions I celebrate with them, I simultaneously and silently grieve what I'm losing—their perspective, company, and constancy in my life. Though we singles get all the benefits of a flexible, hand-picked family of friends, we also have to bend and flex constantly, allowing God to work what's best in each of their lives, even when that means taking them out of ours.
As much as these friendship down times have distressed me over the years, I've also seen good things come from these lonely seasons. They've certainly helped me appreciate friend-rich seasons, to see them as the blessings they truly are. I've learned to cherish good friends for however long I get to spend in their vicinity and to communicate my appreciation of them long before a tearful good-bye.
These seasons also have helped me savor the constancy of my family. Though they live a couple states away from me, these great people will always be my mom and dad, my sister and brother-in-law. These givens mean more to me with each transition.
I've also learned to experience a fair amount of anticipation amidst any lonely season. No matter who's left my local landscape of friendship, God's always brought someone else to fill the gap and enrich my life. Now when people leave, I start scanning the horizon for the great friend God will bring into my life next.
As it turns out, two of my good friends are cycling back into my day-to-day life. My former roommate of six years, who moved to Mongolia to teach English two years ago, just came back to the area to resume her junior high teaching position—and thankfully, our in-person friendship. And another dear friend I met at a singles Bible study years ago is moving back to the area later this month as her husband's job, which took them to another state two years ago, is now bringing them back.
These two women were part of a foursome of us female friends who used to gather for dinner on a semi-regular basis and laugh ourselves into such a fit we were sure we'd get kicked out of the restaurant du jour. So as the season for my church committee winds down, I look forward to this community resuming. Further proof that there's truly a time for everything (Ecclesiastes 3:1).
Most importantly, the constantly shifting nature of my family of friends helps me remember and revel in God's constant presence in my life. The fact that he promises to never leave nor forsake us (Joshua 1:5) fills me with extra awe and hope when the people on whom I often rely too heavily disappear one by one. And then I'm reminded that "every good and perfect gift is from above" (James 1:17) when new ones appear after a friendship dry spell.
In the midst of those dry spells, if I allow him, God fills the gaps with more of his awesome presence. Alone just he and I, I experience one of the sweetest gifts of singleness, undivided communion with him and a glimpse at the fact that though he sometimes fills our life with wonderful people and blessings, at the end of the day, at the end of this life, he alone is the only one we can count on. He alone is the only one we truly need.
Camerin welcomes your feedback and brainstorms at: SinglesNewsletter@ChristianityToday.com
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