Her wedding dress stayed in the closet for twenty-seven years. Not because she was saving it for a daughter or couldn’t bear to part with her past, but because she never wore it.
Elise had bought it at twenty-two, full of hope and youthful timelines, mapping out a life that she thought God might bless: courtship by twenty-four, marriage by twenty-six, maybe a baby carriage by twenty-eight. The dress hung there, gathering dust and tugging at expectations. Every now and then, she’d unzip the garment bag and trace its lace. Beautiful, but untouched.
Maybe you’ve felt that too—that tension between desire and delay, the waiting that stretches longer than expected. What if I never get married? What if this ache doesn’t go away? What if... I’m single forever?
There’s an odd silence in the Church around that question. Marriage gets the spotlight—sermons, small group series, prayer nights for spouses. For singles, well-meaning encouragement is often bundled with “just wait” or “God’s still preparing” or “When you least expect it...” All hopeful, yes. But what if God’s direction isn’t delay... but design?
That's where the Apostle Paul speaks plainly: “I wish that all of you were as I am. But each of you has your own gift from God; one has this gift, another has that. Now to the unmarried and the widows I say: It is good for them to stay unmarried, as I do” (1 Corinthians 7:7-8).
He doesn’t call singleness a season. He doesn’t label it as a setback or a prelude to something better. He calls it a gift.
Read that again slowly: It is good.
And through the prophet Isaiah, God whispers something even more tender: “For your Maker is your husband—the Lord Almighty is his name—the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer” (Isaiah 54:5). He doesn’t just fill in the blank space left by a missing spouse—He becomes it.
That’s not theological poetry, that’s bridal truth. God is not Plan B to a missing husband or a delayed wife. He is a covenant-keeper, the One who stands at the altar before you and declares, “You’re mine. Wholly. Eternally. Completely.”
There’s something stunning about that, especially when the world—and even church culture—whispers otherwise. As if marriage is full-color living and singleness is grayscale. As if wholeness comes from being chosen by someone human.
But you were already chosen.
Being single doesn’t mean you’re still waiting for your real story to begin. It means your story began before you could say the word “forever.” Singleness isn’t a pause button until real life plays. It’s a pulsing, purposeful part of God’s design for you. Right here, right now.
I once heard a woman say, “I spent my twenties thinking I was waiting on a husband... but it turns out, I was already walking with one.” At the time, I didn’t fully understand. Now I do.
When the house is quiet, not from rest but from longing—He is present. When the world gathers around tables and romantic dates and your chair remains empty—He pulls up a seat beside you. When you pray and wonder if God knows what it’s like to feel unseen—He points to His nail-scarred hands and says, “Yes, beloved. I know.”
Your singleness isn’t an empty space. It’s holy ground.
Maybe the question isn’t “What if I’m single forever?” Maybe it’s “What if forever starts here?”
Wholeness was never a two-person equation. It was always one soul knit to a Savior, fearfully and wonderfully made. There is no missing piece when Christ is your portion. No second place when God is your prize.
That’s not a consolation prize. That’s the crown.
So leave the wedding dress right where it is. Or pass it on to someone who needs it. Because your story isn’t stuck. It’s sacred.
You are already seen. Already known. Fully loved.
Her wedding dress stayed in the closet for twenty-seven years. Not because she was saving it for a daughter or couldn’t bear to part with her past, but because she never wore it.
Elise had bought it at twenty-two, full of hope and youthful timelines, mapping out a life that she thought God might bless: courtship by twenty-four, marriage by twenty-six, maybe a baby carriage by twenty-eight. The dress hung there, gathering dust and tugging at expectations. Every now and then, she’d unzip the garment bag and trace its lace. Beautiful, but untouched.
Maybe you’ve felt that too—that tension between desire and delay, the waiting that stretches longer than expected. What if I never get married? What if this ache doesn’t go away? What if... I’m single forever?
There’s an odd silence in the Church around that question. Marriage gets the spotlight—sermons, small group series, prayer nights for spouses. For singles, well-meaning encouragement is often bundled with “just wait” or “God’s still preparing” or “When you least expect it...” All hopeful, yes. But what if God’s direction isn’t delay... but design?
That's where the Apostle Paul speaks plainly: “I wish that all of you were as I am. But each of you has your own gift from God; one has this gift, another has that. Now to the unmarried and the widows I say: It is good for them to stay unmarried, as I do” (1 Corinthians 7:7-8).
He doesn’t call singleness a season. He doesn’t label it as a setback or a prelude to something better. He calls it a gift.
Read that again slowly: It is good.
And through the prophet Isaiah, God whispers something even more tender: “For your Maker is your husband—the Lord Almighty is his name—the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer” (Isaiah 54:5). He doesn’t just fill in the blank space left by a missing spouse—He becomes it.
That’s not theological poetry, that’s bridal truth. God is not Plan B to a missing husband or a delayed wife. He is a covenant-keeper, the One who stands at the altar before you and declares, “You’re mine. Wholly. Eternally. Completely.”
There’s something stunning about that, especially when the world—and even church culture—whispers otherwise. As if marriage is full-color living and singleness is grayscale. As if wholeness comes from being chosen by someone human.
But you were already chosen.
Being single doesn’t mean you’re still waiting for your real story to begin. It means your story began before you could say the word “forever.” Singleness isn’t a pause button until real life plays. It’s a pulsing, purposeful part of God’s design for you. Right here, right now.
I once heard a woman say, “I spent my twenties thinking I was waiting on a husband... but it turns out, I was already walking with one.” At the time, I didn’t fully understand. Now I do.
When the house is quiet, not from rest but from longing—He is present. When the world gathers around tables and romantic dates and your chair remains empty—He pulls up a seat beside you. When you pray and wonder if God knows what it’s like to feel unseen—He points to His nail-scarred hands and says, “Yes, beloved. I know.”
Your singleness isn’t an empty space. It’s holy ground.
Maybe the question isn’t “What if I’m single forever?” Maybe it’s “What if forever starts here?”
Wholeness was never a two-person equation. It was always one soul knit to a Savior, fearfully and wonderfully made. There is no missing piece when Christ is your portion. No second place when God is your prize.
That’s not a consolation prize. That’s the crown.
So leave the wedding dress right where it is. Or pass it on to someone who needs it. Because your story isn’t stuck. It’s sacred.
You are already seen. Already known. Fully loved.
