The other day I had an interesting conversation with a friend who is going through a painful, long separation. She was explaining to me how she was missing the presence of a man in her life. The conversation continued on and she candidly poured her heart out to me. Somewhere within the topic of desiring a relationship she referenced how I seemed so independent and how I must not relate to how she was feeling since I was so confident in my singleness. My mouth unintentionally gaped open and then I laughed. Like really laughed. I didn’t mean to. It obviously jarred her to hear me laugh in the midst of such a serious conversation. I quickly apologized and began to explain: “ME? Fiercely single?! The single woman you see standing in front of you took a lot of work… and she’s far from perfected. I ABSOLUTELY understand the feelings of loneliness. I thoroughly grieved the loss of companionship. It was so hard not to resent being single. After all… I wasn’t begging to be single. I WANTED to be married. I wanted someone to do life with. I wanted someone who loved me… I still do."

I still remember the first time I felt the sting of loneliness. It was 3 years ago. The divorce process had just begun and I had no clue what life was supposed to look like as a single mom. I was sitting at the table about to eat dinner with the boys. It had been a very demanding day: deep cleaning in preparation to put my dream home on the market, homeschooling the boys… and to top it off everyone’s emotions were high that day. As I was sitting there I had this thought bombard my mind: “I wish he would walk through the door right now and tell me he was whisking me off to dinner at Giovanni’s.” (a local Italian favorite) “He” was my soon-to-be ex husband. Let’s call him Jay. It was a thought that surprised me. His betrayal was still very fresh and so was the hurt I felt. Why, then, did I have the urge to see him? Don’t get it twisted: I didn’t want him showing up in his current mindset; I just wanted to be rescued from life in that particular moment. Rescued from 10,000,000 kid questions, rescued from dishes, rescued from attitudes and brotherly fights, rescued from bath time, and rescued from the not-so-appealing dinner I made that night. Also? I longed for what was familiar. Jay was undeniably familiar, and yet, he wouldn’t be familiar to me ever again. Which led to another question: Would I ever get to experience the comfort and familiarity of a man again? 

I was feeling a void. A man-shaped void. The feeling would hit me when I was working in the kitchen or fixing my hair in the bathroom. I’d suddenly have a desire to feel the presence of a man stand close to me. That’s all. Nothing more. Someone who knew me; someone I was comfortable with. I didn’t want Jay there… or any other man in particular; just… a manly presence. It was an odd desire for me and this feeling regularly took me by surprise. It’s strange to belong to someone for so long and then, suddenly, belong to no one.

Shortly after I began struggling with these feelings of loneliness I happened to attended a women’s event at my church. Worship started and, like always, I instinctively swayed with the music. I cannot seem to be still when I’m worshipping. Cannot. The worship band was playing “It Is Well” when I felt a shift in my spirit. My eyes were closed and I felt the presence of someone come right in front of me. It felt like they were face to face with me; just inches away from me. I peeked for a brief moment to see if someone was kneeling backwards in the chair in front of me. Nope. The same women who were in the row in front of me were standing there worshipping in the same direction as me. I quickly closed my eyes, and again I felt someone right there.

I was mostly alarmed with the fact this almost tangible presence felt like a man. Ironic since I was at a women’s ministry event and the only men there were in the sound booth. Yet, not ironic at all because God knew the desire I had been feeling. He gently told me to stop swaying and relish the moment with Him. A very intimate moment. I stood, still as a stone, sensing a masculine presence inches away from me; as if we were toe to toe. I heard Him tell me over and over, “I’m here. I’m right here.” Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stood there being loved in a very different way than I’ve experienced before. That was the moment I realized: God could and would fill every void in my life. He was the companion I craved. He wanted to be the familiar presence I ran to when I needed comfort. He wanted to do life with me. He was committed to me. 

At the end of the evening a basket of dime store rings was passed around. We were asked to take one as a reminder of how we are Christ’s bride. (Moment of unfiltered honesty: I thought it was uber cheesy. One of those moments where you have to coach yourself into making your face look normal and not roll your eyes.) In reality, I was caught off-guard with how negatively I was thinking. I had immediately shut down. I thought “I am NOT putting that ring on!” However, when the basket came around to me I politely took the ring and held it in my hand. I started praying and asking God to show me why I was feeling so rebellious. It didn’t take long before He showed me. You see, I hadn’t been wearing my wedding ring. I was working on a wedding cake the day I found out my marriage was over. I had taken my ring off when I started the cake (before I knew) and simply never put it back on. I remember doing the cake dishes later that day. I blankly stared at my wedding ring as it rested on the ring holder displayed atop my kitchen windowsill. I realized I’d never wear this significant piece of jewelry ever again. I had been ring-less ever since that day. Months later, the indention on my left ring finger was still there. So was the faint tan line. No one ever talks about how exposed and shameful a bare finger can make you feel. A naked ring finger was the physical sign I was no longer married. I didn’t belong to Jay anymore.

So, there I was: in church freaking out over putting on a toy ring. My overreaction to a piece of costume jewelry was a symptom of something much greater. I didn’t want to pretend or make-believe I was ok. I wasn’t ok. And I wasn’t married… why would I wear a ring if I wasn’t married? I asked God to help me. I was clearly in the middle of some irrational angst and I needed His perspective. Then God changed everything when He said this: “Stop walking around like you don't belong to anyone. Do you not belong to Me?” That settled it. That settled everything. I put the ring on before leaving the service.

The very next day I went to a department store and bought the ring pictured here. I was very intentional in what I picked out. I usually gravitate to big chunky jewelry. But this ring needed to be different. I didn’t want this ring to look like a decoy wedding ring. I’m not trying to fool men into thinking I’m married. I will say this, though: it’s going to take a very special man to replace this ring on my finger with a wedding ring. My dainty cross ring never leaves my finger. It's an outward sign which daily reminds me I belong.

If you have ever felt like you don’t belong… if you have ever felt a void from losing someone you thought would always be there… if you have ever felt the sting of betrayal… God wants you to know He’s right here with you. He wants to fill the voids. He wants to heal your wounds. He wants you to know you’re His. Stop walking around like you don’t belong to anyone. You belong.