The Still Small Voice

Lately, my heart hurts. For the first time in years, I gave my heart away. When the relationship ended, my hope felt shattered.

The first couple weeks after it ended, every morning when I woke up, I felt sick. The first month, I was overwhelmed with grief.

Because I fell in love. Because I felt seen, known, and chosen. Because I thought, for a little while, that maybe God was writing a new love story for me.

I am sad that it didn’t work out. I am sad that I lost someone I cared about so deeply.

A friend recently told me, “You have done so much work on yourself. You’re capable of loving in a way you never were before.” This insight brings me comfort. I know my heart is open and capable of giving immense love.

Despite my profound sadness, I am proud of my growth. I haven’t reverted to unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with the pain. This is progress, and I take solace in it.

All of this has caused me to reflect on my life. Recently, while traveling, I was riding a ferry boat and saw an elderly couple standing at the prow of the deck. The husband embraced his wife, his arms wrapped around her as they gazed at the sea. My heart ached with longing. I thought, I want someone to grow old with. When will I finally find my person?

Traveling solo with my son brings reminders of my singleness. On our return flight home, there was a 90-minute delay at the luggage drop that almost caused us to miss our flight. I heaved 150 pounds of luggage while pushing a three-year-old in a stroller through a mile-long, winding line to reach the conveyor belt. I found my blood pressure rising as I kept checking the time on my phone.

Finally, after we checked the bag, there were less than ten minutes until our plane was to board. The TSA security line snaked endlessly around the airport, threatening another two-hour wait. Then, I spotted a sign that read “Clear ID.” Desperately, I approached a woman working there and asked if this would help us get through security more quickly. After a retinal scan and fingerprinting, we were set but still faced a wait.

Just then, an employee noticed my struggle with the stroller and luggage. “I got you,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I’m a dad; I get it.” He took the stroller with purpose, guiding us toward the front of the line. Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled over. I was overwhelmed with gratitude. Someone had noticed. Someone cared. Someone helped. Relief washed over me as I realized we wouldn’t miss our flight and be stranded at the airport.

Embarrassed by my tears, I quickly slid off my boots and placed our bags on the conveyor belt for X-ray. After gathering our things, we made a mad dash to the gate. Pushing the stroller, balancing two carry-on bags, a purse, and a backpack, I kept glancing at the time. The sign at the gate said “Final Boarding” as we approached. We hurried down the sky bridge, collapsed the stroller, and hefted the bags into the overhead compartment with a heavy thud. Finally, we sank into our seats, exhausted but immensely relieved.

It is in moments like those that I long for a partner to share life with—someone to stand at the prow of life with me, co-captaining our ship through calm and stormy seas alike.

Through this season of aloneness, my trust remains steadfast in God. I hold onto His promises, believing in His goodness and wisdom. I trust that He knows the desires of my heart and that He will provide everything I long for and everything I need.

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.” -Psalm 27:14