Gratefully Single: Dealing with the Grief

I always sort of squirm inside when confronted with the idea of grieving singleness. It seems inappropriately wimpy to shed tears over not having someone you’ve never had and who may not even exist when others have lost real, breathing people who were such a vital part of their lives. It feels like it would demean their losses to entertain the pain of being single.  

And yet the thing about singleness is that when the circumstances align in just the right combination, it feels just like grief. The same agony of tears by night, the same dull emptiness on waking, the same heartless wandering through days. And, by God’s mercy, the same fading of intensity into the background so that you can once more live–until some experience or frailty tears the wound wide open again. 

It’s hard to admit that singleness is a loss of any significance. I would rather appear strong, self-sufficient, and happy. Much as I would like to have a husband, I’m usually too proud to admit that I need one, much less do I want to recognize that his absence makes me about as useful as a puddle on the floor sometimes. 

I’ve veiled my pride in what I considered to be good theology: Christ is sufficient (and therefore I need no one else). Christ is my joy (and therefore I should never be sad). 

The facts are true, but the assumptions are wrong. Christ is sufficient, but also He made us to need other people, even to need (why is it still so hard to say?) marriage. Christ is my joy, but also sorrow is the proper response to what is broken in the world. (Remember how Jesus wept at the tomb of his friend in John 11.) 

Marriage is wired into (most of) us. Just because “my husband” doesn’t have a name or a body doesn’t mean he hasn’t always existed in my mind. In that sense, singleness is a very real loss. 

And sometimes (thankfully not always!) the grief of it is crushing. 

And the haunting question is–what do we do with the pain? 

Psalm 62

For the choir director; according to Jeduthun. A Psalm of David. 

My soul [waits] in silence for God only; From Him is my salvation.  He only is my rock and my salvation, My stronghold; I shall not be greatly shaken.  How long will you assail a man, That you may murder [him,] all of you, Like a leaning wall, like a tottering fence? They have counseled only to thrust him down from his high position; They delight in falsehood; They bless with their mouth, But inwardly they curse. Selah. 

 My soul, wait in silence for God only, For my hope is from Him.  He only is my rock and my salvation, My stronghold; I shall not be shaken.  On God my salvation and my glory [rest;] The rock of my strength, my refuge is in God.  Trust in Him at all times, O people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us. Selah.  

Men of low degree are only vanity and men of rank are a lie; In the balances they go up; They are together lighter than breath.  Do not trust in oppression And do not vainly hope in robbery; If riches increase, do not set [your] heart [upon them.] Once God has spoken; Twice I have heard this: That power belongs to God; And lovingkindness is Yours, O Lord, For You recompense a man according to his work. 

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In this Psalm David exalts the Lord as his hope. He contrasts the nature of men with the nature of God and encourages himself to look to God for salvation and refuge. He encourages others to trust in God at all times and to pour out their hearts before Him because He is a refuge for us. 

Pouring the heart out before God is something David knew well how to do. In all of his psalms, we see him relating to God in many different circumstances and pouring out his feelings–whether they were jubilation or fear or grief. 

David knew something about God that I often forget: He wants us to talk to Him about whatever is on our hearts, to cry to Him even. (Something David often did.)

For whatever the reason, this concept is hard for me to grasp. Knowing the truth about God–that He is always right, always good, perfectly sovereign, etc.–makes me want to align my words to His truth before I speak to Him. I want to be exactly theologically right in what I say. 

But if I am careful to craft my words in a way that I feel is scripturally sound, it may mean that I am not communicating my heart to him at all. Just because I know and can say, for example, that He is working all things together for my good and His glory doesn’t mean that I feel good about it. I might feel terrible. I might be dying on the inside, but trying desperately to conform to His truth without Him (which is actually impossible). Failing to share our hearts with God renders our encounters with Him rather disingenuous. 

But why would God need us to express our hearts to Him? Doesn’t He already know them? 

Of course, God knows what is in our hearts, but simply knowing is so impersonal. Yes, He happens to know because He is omniscient, but what He really wants is to hear it from us ourselves. And why? Because He’s the God that did what was necessary to dwell with us forever. He wants to be close to us relationally, not just in proximity. And in order for that to happen, we have to tell Him the truth about what is in our hearts. 

In those times when we feel the grief of singleness, what do we do? We take it to Him. We talk to Him about it. We even cry to Him sometimes–as often as we need to. And He meets us with His grace. Although singleness is hard and not God’s original design, He is more than enough for us in our weakness. He is the strength, the joy, the provider, the friend, the lover who will never fail, always eager to take us under His wing. 

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Lord, we thank You for Your desire to love us and make us Your own forever. Thank You for understanding our weakness. You know how You created us, and You know what loss feels like. It is a beautiful gift that You care and that You desire to hear our hearts and enter into our pain with us and carry us through. Teach us to be honest with You and lean on You in all of our needs. Amen.