Faith, Singleness & Hope: Letter to My Future Husband

A letter written in the middle of the singleness

I don’t know where you are right now. I don’t know if you’re thinking about me, or if you even know I exist. Maybe you’re sitting in traffic or making coffee or scrolling through your phone, living a life that hasn’t intersected with mine yet. Maybe you’re healing from something too.

I wanted to write to you because I’ve been quiet for a long time. More than a decade, actually. Not because I didn’t want to be found, but because I needed to stop looking. I needed to become someone who could stand still without feeling like she was disappearing.

There were years when I thought singleness was a punishment. Like I’d missed my turn somewhere and now I was just waiting in the wrong room. I watched friends remarry. I watched my daughter grow up asking questions I didn’t always know how to answer. I learned how to carry groceries and loneliness in the same trip.

I know some of you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve sat in church services on Mother’s Day feeling seen and unseen at the same time. You’ve wondered if God forgot about this part of your story. You’ve practiced saying “I’m fine” so many times it almost sounds true.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped asking God to send someone and started asking Him to make me whole without one. And He did. Not in the way I expected. Not by making me stop wanting love, but by teaching me I could survive without it. That I was already loved, already seen, already enough. That my life wasn’t on hold.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped asking God to send someone and started asking Him to make me whole without one.

I’m 43 now. I’m a mother. I come from a broken family and I have a failed marriage behind me. I have stretch marks and a mortgage and a prayer life that looks more like exhaling than performing. I’m not waiting to be rescued. I don’t need someone to fix me or complete me or make sense of my story.

But I’m still open. I still believe that love is possible. Not because I’m owed it, but because I’ve seen what happens when you let God do the rebuilding. When you stop trying to force your way through life and start trusting that He knows what He’s doing. That He who began a good work will carry it through to completion.

So if you’re out there, if this life is moving us toward each other somehow, I want you to know I’m not holding my breath. I’m living. I’m showing up. I’m learning to be okay with not knowing how this part ends. Learning what it means to be still and know that He is God.

And if we never meet, I’ll be okay with that too. Because I’ve learned that faithfulness isn’t about getting what you want. It’s about trusting God even when the room stays quiet.

But if you do show up one day, I’ll be here. Not perfect, not waiting by the window, but here. Whole. Ready. Unafraid of loving again.

A note to you, reading this:

If you’ve been single longer than you expected, if you’ve stopped talking about it because people don’t know what to say anymore, if you’re tired of being told “your person is coming” or “just be content,” I see you.

You’re not forgotten. You’re not being punished. And you’re allowed to be whole and still want love. Both things can be true.

This is what real faith looks like in the middle of a long wait. Not certainty. Not pretending it doesn’t hurt. Just showing up, telling the truth, and trusting God with what we can’t control.

You’re not alone in this.