Kate Hurley - Cupid Is a Procrastinator: Making Sense of the Unexpected Single Life

HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

EUGENE, OREGON

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Cover by Luke Flowers Creative, Colorado Springs, CO

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CUPID IS A PROCRASTINATOR

Copyright 2013 Kate Hurley

Published by Harvest House Publishers

Eugene, Oregon 97402

www.harvesthousepublishers.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Hurley, Kate, 1975-

Cupid is a procrastinator / Kate Hurley.

pages cm

ISBN 978-0-7369-6226-1 (pbk.)

ISBN 978-0-7369-6227-8 (eBook)

1. Single peopleReligious life. 2. Christian womenReligious life. I. Title.

BV4596.S5H87 2015

248.84dc23

2014021858

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C ONTENTS

F or many years now, I have spent my life on the shore, watching, waiting.

Like a million stories told through a hundred generations, I was searching the horizon, looking for someone to come home to me. A companion to walk with. A witness to my life.

I imagined that we would meet on the shore in a glorious homecoming. It would be the moment that all the minutes before had led up to, the moment that in all the minutes after we would never forget.

We would walk hand in hand down the road marked out for us. And when we reached our destination, we would build up our love story around us like a warm shelter.

But years passed. No matter how hard I looked, no matter how fervently I prayed, I did not see that ship coming in. I clenched my cold hands and continued watching on the waterfront, dreaming of the beautiful phantom life that was not mine.

I stood shivering on the shore for a long time, until I realized that the ship, the parallel existence that I had hoped to start living long ago, was a ghost ship. It was perfect, but only because it was elusive. It was beautiful, but only because it was not really there.

I am cold now. I am ready to go somewhere that will hide me from the storm. And so I have a choiceto stay here and watch or to step away from the waiting. Perhaps for a little while, perhaps for the rest of my life. I have a choice to turn my head from the sea and take a slow walk toward a home that I can build for myself right now, today. A decision that will be a beginning and an ending all at once.

The road will be unspeakably beautiful and sometimes painful, just like the journey I would have walked in my parallel life. It will be full of love and full of loneliness, just as it would have been on the sister ship that I never got to ride.

In the end, the path I walk on might not lead me to a home with the arms of a husband or the laughter of children, a reality that may always be difficult for me.

But I can still put flowers in a vase so I can remember small, beautiful things. I can still bake bread and hear laughter around the table. I can still press my face against the windowpane, welcoming the lonely traveler home.

I can wait for that ghost ship forever, or I can build a place where I can rest. A shelter that is heavy with hope, but tempered with acceptance. It will probably never be easy. The longing may never go away. But perhaps God will teach me how to long and let go at the very same time.

One day, someone might knock on my door and sit down with me, warming his hands by the fire I have built. And we may grow to love each other. But if he never comes, my life will still be beautiful, because I have chosen to make it that way.

In the end, I dont want to live in a parallel life that will disappear if I try to touch it. I want to walk out the tangible story that God has set before me today.

Even if I never find the love story that I anticipated, I might find a love story that I didnt expect. A different kind of love story.

A story that leads me home.

I was playing cards with my little friend Isabella the other day. We were playing Old Maid.

You know the game. You each have a set of cards. You draw from the other player and lay down the pairs that you find. Twos, twos, twos. There is anticipation every time a card is drawn from the other players hand. Who will pair up next?

Another pair, and another pair, and another pair. Each laid down, one right next to the other.

There was one card left in my hand at the end of the game. The old maid. The card had a picture of an older woman surrounded by cats. Apparently cats are the only creatures that will live with single ladies who are mature in age.

Isabella pointed at me and said Look, Kate! You have the old maid! That means youre the loser.

I didnt know what to do with this statement or with this game. I dont usually mind losing games to five-year-olds. But I was a little more sensitive about losing this time. In most games, the last person standing wins. In this game, you lose if youre the last person standing alone. Ill let you in on the reason this was difficult for me: Im thirty-something and Ive never been married. I felt a strange kinship with the old maid. Am I the loser? I thought.

Old Maid is a very old Victorian game. There are versions around the world, many with different names. In Brazil, it goes by the flattering name Stink. The English version is called Scabby Queen, a name that brings up even worse images than the picture of the American cat lady. And my personal favorite is the French version, Le Pouilleux, which means the louse like the parasitic insect. Another word for louse is cootie. Awesome.

In my research, I also found pictures of some vintage Old Maid games. My favorite was a 1940s deck that had wonderful cartoons of very attractive, curvy women. One woman was riding on an airplane. Another was surfing. A third looked like a successful business lady.

The old maid? A little old lady sitting in a rocking chair knitting, which is quite appropriate, since that is where the word spinster comes from. One who spins. It seems that single people who are a little older have nothing better to do than to sit in a rocking chair and knit some booties for their favorite nephew.