When the altar call was made I joined the team of single ladies and we all strolled to the front in our numbers. The pastor had made a call to pray for as many of us as were desiring marriage. The room was almost empty save the married folks. Prayers were said. Prophecies were made. Loud Amens rang in the air. Hope came alive. Faith was birthed. Our faces lit up. Expectations were sky-high. We galloped to our seats.

Then, a second altar call was made. All married women in troubled marriages were asked to come out for prayers. Then I got the shock of my life. Even the speaker was startled. She thought they didn’t hear her clearly. She repeated herself. Big error! Because it only encouraged those who were contemplating whether to get up or not and those who were checking to see whether their hubbies would scowl or not, to come out. You could count on one hand those that didn’t get up from their seats. The women trooped out in their numbers and struggled for spaces in front.

My friends were close by. We exchanged puzzled looks. We were in utter shock and bewilderment. You could almost tell our thoughts. It wasn’t difficult to figure out. What was going on?

We are praying to get in, you are looking for exit doors.

We are asking for how to, you are pushing for way out.

We are wishing for serious dates, you are running from hapless fate.

We dream happily ever after, you look boringly ever after.

That which we are craving to have is also that which you are struggling to keep. That which we so much desire, that which we spend sleepless nights praying for, that which has turned us into discussion and prayer topics on the lips of family and friends, is what many of you are crying for help from. What an irony!

Shouldn’t we rather remain single and keep this coveted peace and sanity? I mean, why sign up to something that is fraught with pain and heartache? We understand we probably shouldn’t use you as index but we cannot possibly deny that we see you, all of you.

We see the fake smiles and the plastic PDAs. We see the stress and the incessant fights. We see it’s tough, we could tell it’s difficult. We also see the effort you make to keep it all together. And when we look for inspiration, you are so not close to it. We see you.

But.

But we cling to some hope that ours would be different. We hang on to that frail faith that we would do better when we get in. It is why no matter how many stories of domestic violence we hear, something within assures us that we can do it right. No matter many gory tales of battery and infidelity social media bedevil us with, our mustard-seed-faith comforts us that it won’t be our lot. It’s a crazy faith. It’s faith nonetheless.

So, even if you want out, we still want in.

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