Single people are not a college-aged monolith.
Unfortunately, within the church, they’re often treated as such. According to the U.S. Census Bureau in 2017, the average age of marriage is twenty-eight. This skews a little younger for women, and a little older for men. In my lifetime, the average age of marriage has increased by six years. I want to start by acknowledging that I know this demographic of “older singles” is a new demographic for The (big c) Church. Continue reading
There are 1,257 words beyond this point. This blog will take the average adult reader approximately 4.5 minutes to read. You might be able to consider this something of a part 2 to “Unwanted” (and other lies I believe).
I have had a serious case of writers’ block for about two months now. Generally, when this happens, it’s because there is something I need to write that I’m not writing. It is called writers’ block for a reason—there is literally an obstacle, a blockage, in the outward flow of words. A few nights ago, I was confronted with my obstacle.
I do not want to write this. But I also know I will not be able to continue if I don’t. This blog feels scattered to me—I am not sorry. I am still scattered.
It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but before I begin, I want to invite you to shut up. Read. Sit with me in this. I don’t want your platitudes or condolences or comforts, no matter now well-meaning they may be. Sit with me—in silence—observe how your own soul identifies with mine—receive this. Trust that the Holy Spirit is a sufficient comforter for me—and for you. Continue reading
There are about 1,660 words beyond this point. This blog will take the average adult reader about five and a half minutes to read.
Fat is not the worst thing you can be.
It really, really is not.
And if you really stop to evaluate your deepest darkest fear, I think you’ll agree with me. When you delve deep into the fears you harbor that have never escaped your lips—I doubt if “fat” will be on that list.
No, fat is just the thing you openly fear—and therefore mock. Fat is just the thing you make out to be the worst thing to the people around you. Maybe it’s something you think you are. Or maybe it’s something you’re trying fervently to avoid—or perhaps you try to look like you’re trying to avoid it.
“Oh my gosh I’m so fat.” she says, as she eats something unhealthy.
“I need to lose fifteen pounds.” she says, as she denies a treat.
“Gotta lose the beer belly.” he laughs at a party.
“OMG have you seen so-and-so? She’s put on so much weight. It’s unhealthy.” she gossips.
It’s never overtly stated as a fear, but when so many people express their need to avoid it, it seems to amount to that. Those are a few of the many ways I’ve heard this fear of fatness expressed—in my presence. In the presence of your actually obese loved one. Or maybe in the presence of an overweight stranger—who is also loved. Continue reading
There are approximately 1,350 words beyond this point. This blog will take the average adult reader about four and a half minutes to read.
Raise your hand if you have ever been told a variation of, “You’ll understand [some aspect of Christian life] when you [reach a certain life milestone].”
Consider this blog a part two to Christian. Woman. Single. Continue reading
There are approximately 1,650 words beyond this point. This blog will take the average adult reader approximately six minutes to read.
I grew up in a small town in northwest Washington State.
I thought racism was dead, like the history books said. Like my white teachers taught. And as far as I could tell, in my white community—there weren’t any racial issues. In the 2010 census, my town was 91% white, and 0.4% African American—and that was six years after I left the town, and they’ve been (tongue-in-cheek) trending toward a more diverse population for decades.
There are approximately 1,980 words after this. This blog will take the average adult reader between 6–7 minutes to read.
I knew when I bought the domain “shittywomen.com” that it would be a turnoff for some. I knew when I dropped the eff bomb for the first time on my blog that some people would not be happy.
I knew these things before a barrage of readers let me know that they couldn’t take me seriously because of the language I use. I knew these things before I got messages and comments questioning whether I was a Christian or not “because she uses profanity” I get at least one message/comment/complaint on every blog I publish with the word “fuck” in it about my use of language. I knew that some good Christians would struggle with my use of certain words. I knew they’d bring up Colossians 3:8 and Luke 6:45.
I want to address my use of language in hopes that if people understand where I’m coming from, and the why, they might be less offended. Maybe not. Probably not. After I’ve explained myself, if you’re still offended, might I suggest not following/reading my blog—if you think it’s sin, stop consuming it.
This blog has roughly 1,900 words past this point. It’s a bit long. I didn’t edit well. It has stories. It’ll take the average adult reader 6 and a half minutes to read.
Context: I am writing this, immediately after doing something I rarely do—I deleted a Facebook post. Specifically, I deleted this one:
I did not delete it because I do not stand behind my intended sentiment. I deleted it because it became evident through comments that I needed to put some flesh on the skeleton that I just hung out in the open air. I deleted it because my own intention for the post was hijacked and I saw rapidly growing destructive potential. It is a well-known hazard of putting thoughts out onto the internet. Continue reading
There are 1511 words beyond this point. This blog will take the average adult reader about 5.5 minutes to read.
Valentine’s Day passed not too long ago. Some people like to celebrate it for the day of love it’s supposed to be. Some people make snarky remarks about S.A.D. (Singles Awareness Day) that drip with cynicism and bitterness. (Some of my unholy strengths include cynicism and bitterness, too.) Some people skip Valentine’s Day, and go straight to half-priced-candy day on February 15.
And then, in Christendom, some people celebrate “Purity Day”. It was hugely popular when I was at Liberty University. An army of young (single) Christians would get together and wear white shirts to symbolize their commitment to purity before marriage. By “purity” I’m fairly certain they meant “no involvement with another person’s genitals” before marriage—or for those who’d already been involved with another person’s genitals, “no more involvement with another person’s genitals”.
This blog will take the average adult reader five minutes to read.
I am thirty-one.
For the entirety of my thirty-one years I have been woman. For the entirety of my thirty-one years, I have been going to Christian churches. For the entirety of my thirty-one years, I have been single.
This specific blog post is geared toward single Christian women—whether you fit those descriptors or not, you’re welcome here—but I’m going to be writing under the auspice that my primary audience is women who are single and are Christian. Please forgive my Christianese, at times—and if you choose to keep reading, and want any explanations/translations, please let me know.
(This blog will take the average adult approximately six minutes to read.)
I don’t think I’ve managed to keep it a secret how I feel about women’s ministry. Like. Ever. I’ve probably erred on the side of being a total arsehole when it comes to my opinions of women’s ministry.
And I want to be clear, before I go any further, that I fully acknowledge that women’s ministry is a huge blessing for many women—for some women, the various forms that women’s ministry is extremely helpful and edifying. I get that. But I also want to be emphatic that much like pants—yoga or otherwise—women’s ministry is not, and I don’t think can be, a one-size-fits-all ministry. I’ve seen it treated largely as such.