how i became a mrs. (part 3)

You were on the edge of your seat, weren't you? I knew it. If you're catching up, you can start here and then here.
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At this point, I'd finished my freshman year in college and was wrapping up my first summer back home. I was single and mostly okay with it, but I was super excited about a new year at Carolina. I was rooming with Martha, who was my bestie and made me laugh. Friends like that are always fun to live with. (I would post the video of her sitting under her lofted bed with a towel on her head, singing into an invisible microphone to prove this point, but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't approve. Kisses, Tha.)

But then there was another stupid, stinkin' boy. Gah. I won't go into any details, but just know that it was bad. Like whatwereyouthinking bad. I'm shaking my head right now at how dumb I was, but what can you do? (Write about it six years later, apparently) I tried to wrap that one up pretty quickly, but there were some residual emails and phone calls that led this creepster to essentially ruin my first semester back. That - along with some killer classes and a teensy bit of a whatdoIwanttodowithmylife crisis - resulted in me being the saddest I've ever been. Looking back, I'm pretty sure I was depressed. I felt overwhelmed all the time. I doubted myself all the time. I felt sad all the time. I was homesick every single day. And that's how I spent my time that semester. Rainbows and butterflies it was not.

Christmas break was good - I was regrouping and reprioritizing things for the new semester to come. But everything that was going on started to bear down on my spiritual health. Naturally, the "why" questions started surfacing and I wasn't quite sure how to get past them. Why did I feel sad when I really, really felt like I was seeking the Lord during that time? Why was I so insecure that I continued to let boys steal my identity? Why couldn't I just be happy? Why did I let another boy deconstruct my confidence? Boys, boys, boys. They're trouble, I tell you. Now, I wasn't one of those loopy, flirty, omgdidhejustsmileatme kind of girls. And from the outside, I don't think I appeared to be insecure. It just seemed like somehow, I didn't feel good about myself unless someone else felt good about me, too. Typical.X.Chromosome.

I was thinking things out as I was walking to class and it slapped me in the face. All of this stuff was wrapped up into a ball of disfunction and what it boiled down to was this: I did not find my identity or my security in the One who knew my heart the most. And when your heart is made for one thing, but is tied to another, things tend to get messy.

So I decided then and there, on the sidewalk in between Morrison and E-haus, that I was done. I prayed this prayer: Lord, I'm done with boys. These relationships are meaningless and do not glorify you, nor do they fulfill my purpose here. Give me the strength to avoid this false source of confidence and the wisdom to know when you've prepared me for my husband. More or less. Basically, I swore off boys and declared that I didn't want to date ever again until it was time to meet my husband. And I really, really, really meant it. And apparently, He knew it.

My friends, that's a dangerous prayer. Because that was February 23, 2006. And on February 24, 2006? I met my husband.