Here goes.

I’m single. 

Whew. There. I said it. 

If you know me or follow me on social media, this isn’t a surprise. People tend to know if someone is in a relationship, because our culture is obsessed with relationships.

And dear Church, you are obsessed with relationships and dating and marriage. So as a woman who has had to navigate singleness in the Body of Christ, would you allow me to say a few truths that the Church desperately needs to grab ahold of? 

I feel the crushing weight of this label called single.

I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted. I’m tired of the jokes about putting me on some obscure dating site. I’m tired of yet another sermon on marriage. I’m tired of hearing, “So, I know this guy who’s single.” And I’m tired of all of these things coming from the Church. 

It’s hard to describe the crushing weight of this label called single. My town and home church are perfect for couples and families. Both are beautiful places, and I’m grateful for the ways they taught and shaped my family and me. But as a single woman trying to find a place and a community to belong in, this reality is painful, challenging, and crushing—especially when it is paired with incessant comments about relationships. 

So, before you start another conversation with your single friend about relationships, pause. Please, for the love of our sweet Father, just pause. Remember that the person sitting across from you is so much more than this label called single, but at the same time, she just might feel like she could die from the crushing weight of it.

There’s nothing wrong with me.

To be fair, no one actually asks, “You’re still single? What’s wrong with you?”

Very few people in this world are that blunt and cruel. Most comments are subtle, and people don’t even realize what they’re communicating. Friend, when you ask me if I’m dating someone every time you see me, you tell me something is wrong with me. When you try to set me up with someone yet again without me asking you to, you tell me something is wrong with me. When you joke around about how I’m too strong, independent, and confident for most men, you tell me something is wrong with me. When you teach another message on marriage, plan another marriage retreat, start another small group for married people without doing anything for singles, you tell me something is wrong with me. 

On my very best days, I can remember the truth—there’s nothing wrong with me. I am not the rejected. I am not too much or not enough. I don’t need to change my personality to find a date for a Friday night. I contribute value and help the Church see a different side of the Father that marriage can’t. 

So, please, sweet Body of Christ, remember this: Every time you mention that you just want to help your single friends find that person they can spend the rest of their life with, think about what they’re hearing. Their life is beautiful right now. They’re single, and that’s ok. 

Singleness is not a problem to solve.

Wouldn’t it be super weird if the Church acted like marriage was a problem to solve? I mean, half end in divorce, so with odds like that, shouldn’t we avoid it? 

YIKES! 

Marriage is beautiful. I certainly hope I get to experience all the wonderful, complicated, messy, incredible parts of it someday. But for now, I’m in this place called single, and I don’t need rescued.

Singleness is not a problem to solve. It’s not a place to save me from just like marriage isn’t a place to save you from. 

Sweet Body of Christ, what if we celebrated singleness—really celebrated it? What if we celebrated it for more than what we can get from single people who seem to have more time and energy than couples or those with kids? What if we celebrated the ways singleness shows us the Father in extravagant ways? 

What if we celebrated single people’s accomplishments? What if we encouraged them to pursue their dreams instead of waiting for their life to start when the “right one” comes along. History would miss so many beautiful, kingdom-building people if they had waited for their spouse before radically following Jesus.

So, friend, remember that singleness is not a problem to solve or a place to rescue people from in the same way that marriage isn’t a problem or a place people need saved from.

Better Together

Now hear this: I love the beautiful, imperfect Church, and I value marriage. I’m not holding grudges against those who have overstepped boundaries in their attempts to cure my singleness. I’m not angry. I’m not bitter.

Honestly, I’m just tired, because somedays, it takes all my energy to remember that I’m ok. I’m not a problem to be solved, a brokenness to be fixed, or a woman in need of rescuing. I’m just single.

Body of Christ, you need families and couples, retirees and people in that mid-life crisis zone, kiddos and awkward teenagers. And you need me—just me in all my glorious singleness. We are better together—not trying to fix one another or conform one another to our own ideal of perfect. So, would you create space for me, for my questions and struggles, for my party of one? 

I’ll make space for you if you’ll make space for me. 

The post With Love from Your Single Friend in the Church appeared first on Kate Berkey.

It was the end of May in Northern Indiana, and it seemed as if the torrential downpour would never stop. I remember the way the rain pounded on the roof of the tiny cottage almost the entire weekend. I remember the way the water soaked the ground until the earth couldn’t absorb anymore. I remember the sound the drops made on the metal roof—loud, resounding, like the steady beat of a million drums. I remember watching the rain hit the windows, seeing it trace lines down the glass.

And I remember the way it seemed like the dirt and grim of my own life were being washed away. I remember the way the healing waters seemed to soak my raw and bleeding soul until I couldn’t absorb a drop more. I remember the way truths beat on the walls around my heart and mind, busting through an exterior built by lies and insecurities and doubts.

I remember the state of my humanity as I sat on the small loveseat in the tiny cottage, sometimes just staring at a wall, sometimes writing, sometimes reading, sometimes crying. I remember the state of my body—bloated and exhausted. I remember the state of my heart—anxious and angry and overwhelmed. And I remember the state of my confused and weary soul.

It was May of 2017, and I felt so very deeply broken. A voice deep within my soul told me that I needed a break, that I needed to step away from this world that I had created and cultivated. It was a world that was slowly suffocating me.

I was overcommitted to a million different things—an amazing small group of high school girls, a serious relationship, a job that left me searching for more, trips that took me around the world, leadership roles that asked me to pour out more and more of myself, friendships and family relationships, dreams for the future, and dreams that felt like they were dying. I was exhausted in more ways than I knew how to put into words, and in this exhaustion, I was met with words from those around me which held me in deeper shame.

“You’re too young to be this tired.”
“You can be tired when you’re my age.”
“Oh, come on, you’re fine.”

But I wasn’t fine. I felt beyond the opposite of fine. I had reached the end of myself. I had reached the end of who everyone else wanted me to be. I had reached the end of who everyone else expected me to be. I couldn’t run faster, work harder, or be better.

I was done, and I didn’t realize how done I was until I sat in that tiny cottage hearing nothing but the sound of the rain and the chaotic noises of my own soul.

Crying along with all the voices around me was my own voice. It was the voice of the Kate who tried to be perfect, who tried to have it all together. She screamed, “Be better. Work harder. Run faster. Stop being weak.”

Deep down, I believed that it wasn’t just my coworkers and friends and family and my own frantic soul that said these things. Deep down, I felt like these words were coming from the mouth of the Father. I felt like He looked at my world, at the state of my life and felt disappointed. I felt like I wasn’t measuring up to His expectations, like I was failing him.

I felt like He was 10 miles ahead of me, scolding me, “Come on! Be better! Work harder! Run faster. You’re better than this.”

That weekend, a new voice emerged from my soul, one that simply said, “I can’t. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep working and striving and hustling. I can’t keep trying to prove my worth, prove that I have a place, prove that I belong, prove that my voice matters. I can’t keep trying to prove myself to others, and I’m tired of trying to prove myself to God.”

And in those moments of deeply vulnerability, I remember being surprised by the Father, because I wasn't met with scolding or correction or a disappointed dad. I was met with love. I was met with grace. I was met with rest. I was met with arms that held me, feet that carried me. I was met with a God who saw me in my fragile, human state, and embraced me with a level of kindness that left me feeling seen and known.

I was met with kind words that He spoke to my soul, the one that couldn’t take a step further, not because it was tired of working hard but because it was tired of trying to prove that it could.

As my heart cried, “Be better,” 
the Father whispered, “Rest here, Love.” 
As my heart cried, “Work harder,”
the Father whispered, “You are enough.”
As my heart cried, “Run faster,”
the Father whispered, “Let me carry you.” 

And my heart was overwhelmed by this God I had always known but struggled to understand.

My story and this journey I am on with the Lord is full of these moments, moments of being completely surprised by the God I have known about since I was a little girl. This journey to discover the heart of the Father began in that small cottage in the middle of Northern Indiana. That weekend was the catalyst to discover not the God I wanted him to be, but simply the God He is. That weekend was a stake in the ground kind of moment, a pivot, a decision to go another way. It was a decision to choose rest over hustle, to choose practices over performances, to choose grace over perfection.

And it was a stake in the ground kind of moment to start this long journey—the one where I find myself completely surprised by the God I've always known but never understood.

The post Surprised by the God I’ve Always Known but Never Understood appeared first on Kate Berkey.

I've spent a lot of time thinking and talking about community over the years. I'm part of the generation of Christian millennials who have heard every cliché buzzword when it comes to the idea of cultivating true community. I'm also part of the generation of humans who have experienced a deep shift in what community looks like. It seems that the days of face-to-face interaction are long gone, replaced by Facetime and Facebook and feedback in the form of likes and retweets.

More times than not, I find myself swinging from one extreme to the other–all in, all the time or withdrawn and isolated.

I am an introvert. That doesn't mean I'm shy. It doesn't mean that I hate people. It just means that people don't give me energy. Lots of time with people actually drains me, and crowds are not my thing. But more times than I care to admit, I let my introverted, withdrawn tendencies pull me out of community. I let my very independent self pull me away from people who love and care about me, people who want to walk alongside me.

But these days in particular, I am so deeply aware of my need for community. I am in a new country, surrounded by new people and new language and new culture. It doesn't take long for all of this newness to become isolating. But here's what I also know: I don't allow myself to become isolated just in these new places. Sometimes, I find myself doing life alone in the most familiar of places, walking through life with people beside me but not actually taking the time to struggle through life together.

I find myself walking beside rather than walk with.

And I don't think I'm alone in this.

The idea of community means so many things to so many people. Some have been deeply wounded by community. Some have felt the pressure to conform or change or become someone they aren't in order to fit into a community. Some have experienced beauty and healing and belonging and grace in community. Some have longed for a community to belong to, feel known by, be seen by but have watched this desire go unmet for far too long.

Here's what I am certain of:
Community is hard
Community is messy
Community is complicated
And yet, community is our very inhale and exhale.

What I'm realizing is this world doesn't need one more commentary on community, on the importance of vulnerability and authenticity. We don't need more buzzwords that make people feel isolated in their struggles and striving. Maybe it's just me, but I'm tired of opinion pieces and divisive issues and emotionally and politically charged writing. More and more, I am desperate for honest conversation, honest prayers, honest experiences, honest struggles, honest joys. I am desperate for empathy and compassion and understanding and the acknowledgement that none of us do this thing of life perfectly.

These days, my goals for community look a lot like stumbling through a dance and sound a lot like desperate, honest prayers for the journey. They go something like this–

May I have the eyes to see who needs to be in my community and the discernment to know who doesn't.

May I have the courage to show up with all of myself, mess and put-togetherness.

May I cultivate relationships of vulnerability because I first chose to be vulnerable.

May I feel the freedom to be in community while still honoring the introverted person God created me to be.

May I have the grit to fight for my tribe even when it gets messy and the wisdom to know when to walk away.

May I laugh and cry with my people, inviting them into all of the spaces of my life.

May I set aside the hustler, choosing to simply be with my community rather than prove that I belong.

May I find a place I belong, even if it's with people who are so very different than me, and may I have the grace to create a place for others to belong even if we are so very different.

May our differences not cause division but create opportunities to grow and learn and struggle and stumble together.

May we gather around a table, knowing that there are those on the margins who are simply waiting for an invitation to be a part of the feast, knowing that there is always an extra seat.

May we be a people who do the dance of community–embracing vulnerability and differences and messy people. May we cultivate places for people to belong. May we cultivate places for ourselves to belong, to show up and be seen, because what I'm learning time and again is community is so much more than a buzzword or a good idea.

We were created for community.
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Our very inhale and exhale.

Who is your community?
Who are the people who should be in your community?
What are your desperate, honest prayers for community?

The post On Community appeared first on Kate Berkey.