The Season of Waiting

                                            

The silence in Elara’s small living room was heavy, not with peace, but with the suffocating weight of questions that had no easy answers. At twenty-eight, she sat curled into the corner of her worn beige sofa, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound accompanying her thoughts, a stark contrast to the chaotic, joyous noise her three children made before she tucked them into bed. She was a woman who had spent years sculpting her spirit, listening to sermons on marriage, fasting for clarity, and curating a prayer journal filled with the specific, holy characteristics of the husband she believed God was preparing for her.

And yet, the man currently occupying the space in her heart was not the seasoned, protective "Adam" she had envisioned, but Julian - a handsome, twenty-year-old boy whose smile was as bright as his pockets were empty.

It had started innocently enough, born from a lonely vulnerability and the surprising warmth Julian showed toward her children, asking about them with a tenderness that made Elara feel seen in a way she hadn't in years. But lately, the relationship felt less like a partnership and more like a slow, confusing drain on her already stretched resources.

The incident from the previous night replayed in her mind like a scene from a movie she wanted to walk out of. She had gone to Julian’s apartment, seeking comfort and companionship, only to be met with the familiar, awkward dance of financial lack. He had looked at her with those young, apologetic eyes and confessed he had no money for food, a statement that hung in the air and forced her hand. Elara, whose maternal instinct was always to nurture and provide, had pulled out her wallet to pay for their supper, but as the transaction went through, she felt a sharp, undeniable pinch in her chest, not of stinginess, but of misplaced burden.

What haunted her more than the cost of the meal was the casual comment he had made earlier in the evening: that if she didn't come over, he might travel home because he didn't want to be alone. As she sat in her living room now, the logic finally clicked into place, cold and unsettling: If he didn't have money for a simple supper, where was the money for a travel ticket coming from?

She felt a flush of heat rise to her cheeks, a mix of embarrassment for letting it slide and anger at the subtle manipulation she hadn't wanted to see.

Elara closed her eyes, thinking of the prayers she had sent up to heaven. She had asked for handsome, yes, and God had delivered that in abundance, but she realized with a sinking heart that she had forgotten to specify the season of life. Julian was in the spring of his life, still figuring out who he was, still building his foundations, while she was deep in the summer of hers, navigating the complex heat of motherhood, bills, and spiritual depth. He was "trying" ,he bought the heater jug when she asked, he bought the bedsheets when she complained, but a marriage, or even a serious courtship, could not be built on the erratic efforts of a boy learning to be a man.

The guilt gnawed at her. Her parents had called her stingy in the past, but they didn't understand the ferocious arithmetic of a single mother’s mind; every coin spent on a boyfriend’s supper was a coin not saved for her children’s school fees, their clothes, or their future. It wasn't that she was ungenerous, it was that she was responsible, and her spirit was rejecting the feeling of being an unspoken financial crutch for a man who should have been a provider.

She looked over at her Bible on the coffee table. She had wanted a spiritual leader, a man who knew God not just as a concept, but as a deep, anchoring root. Julian was willing to listen, willing to be "tuned," but Elara suddenly felt the exhaustion of that prospect wash over her. She wanted a partner to run the race with, not a project to manage; she needed a man who could cover her in prayer, not one she had to constantly drag to the altar.

The fear of loneliness whispered to her, telling her she was too old, that having three kids made her "baggage," and that she should be grateful Julian even stuck around. But as she took a deep, shaky breath, a clearer, stronger voice cut through the noise - the voice of her own worth, which she had nearly forgotten.

She realized that the pinch she felt when opening her wallet wasn't selfishness; it was her intuition screaming that the natural order was inverted. She was trying to force a twenty-year-old into the shoes of a patriarch, and it was blistering both of their feet.

Elara stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the quiet street. She understood now that she hadn't missed God, nor had she been abandoned. She had simply become impatient, letting the fear of being "left out" while her friends got married drive her into the arms of the available rather than the appointed.

She deserved a man whose bills added up, or who at least had the maturity to handle his lack without making it her emergency. She deserved a man who looked at her and saw a queen to be cherished, not a safety net to fall into.

With a resolve that started in her spirit and settled into her bones, Elara knew what she had to do. It would be painful to walk away, to return to the solitude of her evenings, but the cost of staying, the cost of her peace, her finances, and her dignity was far too high. She would wait. She would trust that the God who created Adam before Eve knew exactly when to wake her husband, and until then, she would not settle for a love that felt like another bill to pay. She was a mother, a provider, and a daughter of the King, and she was finally ready to stop apologizing for it.