I’m excited to share a post today from Mary Spencer Veazey. She is a Georgia native with a gift for storytelling that’s both laugh-out-loud funny and deeply profound, she’s spent her twenties navigating life’s twists and turns with courageous clarity (which, fittingly, is also the theme of her debut book, Cul-de-sac Crossroads).
Now living in Nashville with her cat, Confetti, and working as the Engagement Manager for Daystar Counseling Ministries, Mary Spencer writes with honesty and humor about the complexities of faith, life, and trusting God in seasons of waiting.
In today’s post for our series about living Beyond the Labels, she shares what it’s like to be 28 and single when the world expects otherwise. If you’ve ever wrestled with the in-between—between hope and frustration, contentment and longing—this one’s for you.
You can find more of Mary Spencer’s writing on Substack, in her book Cul-de-sac Crossroads, or on Instagram at @mencervz.
It’s a special kind of sympathy, especially in the South, that you get when you say you’re 28 and single.
“Oh, the right one will come when you least expect it!”
“You should just tell your friends to set you up!”
“If you went to church more, I bet you might meet someone!”
“Have you tried out those dating apps?”
I smile and wearily nod. It’s exhausting. It’s a strange feeling — wanting something to be true in your life but not having any control or say over it. Every response like those above is always well-meaning, this I know, but it’s hard not to release my frustrations.
Here’s how I want to respond:
Will the right one come when I least expect it? Because I have high expectations of God to move in my life.
My friends don’t know anyone to set me up, believe me, I’ve asked!
I’m at church a lot… and I’m not going to church just in the hopes that I’ll meet someone.
And yes, I’ve tried those dating apps. It’s a war zone.
I’m the kind of person who, if I want change, I make it happen. Hate the job I’m in? I network and apply until I find the right one. Feeling lonely and wishing I had more friends? I ask strangers in a coffee shop if they’d ever want to hang out.
But dating. It feels off-limits, weird to talk about publicly without fear of seeming desperate. It feels like it’s contagious, a disease that no one wants to catch and everyone fears having.
In 2019, I moved to Nashville with no friends. None. Not a single one. But I knew I wanted to live in this city. So I took a leap of faith and moved. It was a hard, holy, and humbling experience. I’ve seen God woven into every thread of my life’s tapestry since I moved to this city.
I started from scratch, and God showed off. I love my job. I love my church. I love my friends. I love volunteering with my church’s youth group.
I love my life. And yet, I’m longing for more. But I feel ashamed to talk about it.
Have I been too much? Is my laugh too loud, or is my personality too big? I hear friends jokingly ask what’s wrong with a guy who’s our age and still single. Do they talk about me like that?
Ninety-five percent of the time, I don’t think about being single. I don’t question why I haven’t met the right person. I’ve seen a lot of goodness in it. I got to write a book. I got to pick where I wanted to live without bringing someone else into the question. I choose what my weekends are filled with. I built my life with God, and we never looked back. I’m happy, truly joyful.
But in the quiet moments, in the moments when I’m with my friends and their baby laughs or their husband joins in on our dinner plans, that’s when my brain quietly reminds me: You’re not worthy. This isn’t your story, a story of love, and it might never be.
Isn’t that what the whole Bible is, though? A story of love from beginning to end? And it’s not a story of romantic love, it’s a story of eternal love — about never being forgotten or forsaken. God’s love is a love that never runs out and always redeems.
Even in my moments of loneliness, of wishing it all looked different, I’m reminded of a God who is timely. My need for control isn’t changing what God has always had in store for my life.
It’s okay to wish life was different, but we get stuck when we fixate on what should be instead of what is.
I don’t have a husband yet. I don’t have kids yet. In the “not yet” moments in each of our lives, I wonder if we can fight to lean in with God.
God sees your heart and what you’re longing for, whatever that is today.
If you’re hoping for a child but have had months of negative pregnancy tests, cling to hope.
If you’re hoping for healing for your family member or friend and it’s not coming, cling to hope.
Cling to hope after another bad date. Cling to hope when loneliness feels like it could swallow you whole.
You can question God. You can get angry. He can handle it. But cling to hope. Hope in what you cannot see. Because you are seen. You are loved. You are chosen — all by a Father who will not forget you.
You’re not defined by your relationship status, your job, or your kids… you are defined by the image in which God created you.
Don’t be afraid to talk about the hard things. They are a part of your story, whether it’s singleness, loss, anxiety, or just a having bad day.
You’re not desperate or too much. You’re worthy — so much so that you’re covered in a love that never ends. And that’s right where I want to be.
It’s easy to believe that life starts when we hit a certain milestone—marriage, motherhood, a dream job. But as Mary Spencer so beautifully reminds us, our worth isn’t defined by any of those things. Right here, in the “not yet,” God is present. He sees us. He loves us. And that love is enough.
Whatever season you’re in, I hope this post encourages you to embrace it fully, to trust God in the waiting, and to cling to hope—even on the hardest days.
Connect with Mary Spencer in the comments!
Share this post