Do Not Hold Back

“What’s a queen without her king?”

I don’t know, but let’s ask

Cleopatra,

Nefertit,

Hatshepsut,

Victoria,

Elizabeth,

Amina,

Tzu-hsi and

the countless other kingless queens

who turned mere kingdoms into

the greatest of Empires.

Nikita Gill, Queens

I don’t remember how I got there—sitting cross-legged on my tile floor. Maybe because it was hot, or because my mattress was made of Styrofoam, or because I was air-drying my laundry on the couch. 

I don’t remember how I got there—Isaiah 54. I don’t think I even had singleness on my mind. Maybe I was preparing to teach a class, or I was working on a newsletter, or I had slept through my morning quiet time every day that week. 

What I remember is how my life changed: 

“Sing, O barren one, who did not bear; 

            break forth into singing and cry aloud, 

            you who have not been in labor! 

For the children of the desolate one will be more 

            than the children of her who is married,” says the Lord. 

“Enlarge the place of your tent, 

            and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out; 

do not hold back; lengthen your cords 

            and strengthen your stakes. 

For you will spread abroad to the right and to the left, 

            and your offspring will possess the nations 

            and will people the desolate cities.”  

Two lines leapt into my spirit, the tender whisper of God over my anxious single heart: 

Sing, O barren one… 

do not hold back; 

Suddenly, I was unraveling.  

For two years I had agonized over my singleness–so sure that I needed a husband and kids, so frantic about what could go wrong. Because what if I risked it all, what if I laid it all on the altar, and it turned out to be a disaster? What if I sacrificed everything and wound up back in the United States two years later, traumatized and right back where I started? What if I was a shell of a person for a long time afterward, and I lost valuable childbearing years? 

Now here I was with my guard down, and God was doing exactly what I was afraid He would do. Here He was, loosening my grip on the thing I was so sure I needed, prying my fingers open to receive a better gift. 

The gift came all at once—a dam of answered prayer burst open by one word from God. It came and it kept coming, gushing like a river that had long been held back. 

I saw for the first time what God had seen all along—the lives of powerful women unfolding in all their beauty. I saw that He was inviting me to raise up laborers who didn’t cling so tightly to the dream of marriage and kids. He was inviting me to go first and see who came with me. 

Esthers, risking their lives for the sake of a nation. 

Rahabs, forsaking the familiar to follow the God of Israel. 

Annas, making a home in the temple of God. 

Marys, breaking open their alabaster boxes. 

Joannas, exulting over the empty tomb. Among the first to tell of the resurrection. 

There, in my little house on the unnamed road, I was persuaded that being a single missionary was the happiest station in life.  

I don’t remember how I got here—35 and single and so perfectly happy about it. Because all my 29-year-old fears came true. I laid it all on the altar and it turned out to be a disaster. I sacrificed everything and wound up in the United States two years later, traumatized and right back where I started. I was a shell of a person for a long time afterward, and I lost valuable childbearing years. 

But let me tell you what else happened: I embraced my life for the treasure it was.  

I nurtured the little things God was birthing in the nations. I listened to the whispered dreams of people who thought they were too young to do anything for the Kingdom of God, and then I watched those whispers become battle cries. 

My home spread out in every direction, in more cities and time zones than I could keep up with. 

The hearts I shepherded began possessing nations. They dreamed of homes in desolate cities, and those dreams turned into action. 

And I sang. I sang until I disrupted the neighbors, sang until my throat hurt, sang so loud I wondered if the police would come. 

For once, I didn’t hold back. I stopped grieving the losses and ran headlong into the life I had. 

When I moved overseas as a single woman, I thought for sure I was choosing to never get married or have a family—to never fall in love, to never feel a baby kick, to never hear the pitter-patter of little feet on Christmas morning. Maybe I was right—I still don’t know.  

But let me tell you what I do know: If I was choosing, I am so, so happy with my choice.