This is Chapter 6 of my story about femininity, sexuality, and faith. Read Chapters 1 — 5 first.

At fifteen years old, I’d prayed a simple prayer: “God, please tell me when I’ve met my future husband, so I won’t waste any time or feelings on anyone besides him.”

Not long after praying this, a mysterious thing began to happen.

Every time I encountered a boy, that still, small voice — the nudging in my spirit I associated with the voice of God — would whisper a soft “No.”

“No, this is not the one you will marry.”

Sometimes, I’d hear it in regards to people I didn’t even find attractive, and inside I’d laugh. God had a sense of humor! He didn’t have to tell me in those cases.

On strange, rare occasions, I’d hear that “no” when I saw someone who… wasn’t even a guy. I’d frown, thinking it was some sort of glitch. Maybe it wasn’t really God, that time. Still, a sliver of unsettled confusion and doubt would slip into my mind.

Was this all really God? Or was I making it up?

It must be God

In the following two years, I managed not to develop any full-grown crushes, because as soon as I heard that “no,” I would fervently suppress any buds of feelings I had for someone. I had no desire whatsoever to give even chips of my heart to anyone besides the partner God had chosen for me.

In fact, this little “no” became so commonplace, I took it for granted. Eventually I got to the place where I’d completely ignore it.

A defining moment happened in church, when I was nearly seventeen. I noticed an attractive boy worshiping. He was blond, like my “vision” of my future husband, and raised his hands while he sang — which was, in many church subcultures, an indication that someone was uninhibited and spiritually mature.

(Would teenagers ever fake this display of shameless worship, to appear more attractive to their God-seeking peers? Of coooourse nooot…)

“Maybe that could be him?” I thought.

“Nope, not him,” my spirit whispered, but I didn’t listen.

Throughout the service, I was distracted by the boy. But I received what I rightly deserved for such thoughts when, after the service, he went and hugged another girl.

The moment pricked my heart like a needle, and a lesson imprinted into me like a hard, immovable metal engraving:

Trust the voice of God. And don’t doubt it.

The beginning

A month after my seventeenth birthday, I had another defining moment in church, but this one would be far more profound.

In fact, it would ultimately change the course of my life, and set me on a very different path from the conservative, Evangelical, homophobic, repressive, Christian world I’d always known.

Who could have imagined? It all started in a church: the course of events that would lead to me walking away from church, for good.

It began, as many things do, with a boy.

The boy

At the megachurch I attended with my family, I always sat with my parents and oldest siblings near the front of the sanctuary. One day, however, we arrived later than usual, and had to find a spot further to the back.

We ended up behind a fascinating family. I couldn’t help but notice they had a lot of kids, too (probably also home schoolers?), including several cute, blond, teenage boys. During the “meet and greet” part of the service, when everyone turns and (somewhat awkwardly) greets their neighbors, I got to see the boys face-to-face.

I glanced at one of the younger brothers, and felt that familiar “no” in my spirit. Then I noticed the older one.

Silence.

My spirit seemed to say nothing at all.

I sat back down, reeling a little during the sermon (why hadn’t God said no?!?!), but trying not to think about it too much.

Several days passed. And despite my best efforts, I started to think about it. A lot. I hadn’t heard God pronounce the clear word of “yes,” but there was such peace in my spirit! I’d never had this kind of reaction to a boy before. Did this mean… ?!!?!

I told myself I was taking a very small, insignificant incident way too far and making it way too big. Still, I prayed that when we went to church the upcoming Sunday, God would make it clear whether this boy was a “yes” or a “no.”

Him

That Sunday, I was too sick to go to church.

Another week passed. By this time, my thoughts had traveled very far indeed — how could I help it? Still, I reeled them in best I could. I didn’t let myself fully consider what it could mean, if I had in fact met my future husband.

Not until I knew for sure.

I arrived at church with just my dad, two weeks after meeting the mysterious, unnamed blond boy. I searched for his family, and — sure enough. I smiled. There they were, across the sanctuary.

Amazingly, I managed to focus on the ninety-minute service. When it concluded, Dad and I began making our way out of the aisle, and I realized with some disappointment: We’d never gotten to interact with that family. I’d never gotten a chance to see if I would still feel peace in my spirit. I’d have to wait yet another week.

But to my surprise, Dad turned not toward the exit, but toward the front of the sanctuary. I followed him, stunned, right to the family. Apparently, I wasn’t the only da Silva interested in getting to know them.

As my dad chatted with the parents (wishing them a Happy New Year, etc.), my eyes quickly scanned the faces of two parents and a few sons, then settled briefly on the one I’d been looking for.

He was indeed very handsome. Blond curls, defined jawline. He wore a leather jacket over his broad shoulders. He made me think so much of how I’d imagined my future husband — just like a prophecy come true.

Our eyes met. My heart fluttered, and my spirit made no protest. It was still completely at peace.

This is real

I was still afraid to completely accept it. What if it was all a mistake, and I ended up terribly disappointed and broken?

When I encountered the boy for a third time, it seemed like God himself had orchestrated the scene, intent on delighting me. The boy ended up sitting in the same aisle, with only one person between us.

My palms grew sweaty. Had he sat close to me on purpose?

As I passed the offering plate his way, our eyes met, and he smiled at me. He smiled at me! My heart sang afterwards for days on end.

Still, I begged God to make it clear, that there would be no mistake, no misunderstanding his voice one way or another.

“Tell me if this isn’t you!” I said in desperation, kneeling in my bedroom. “I’d rather be embarrassed now, then hurt later. Please, tell me if this isn’t you.”

But the consistency of that peace in my spirit was undeniable now. I finally gave in to the only conclusion that made sense. I accepted, and believed, that this mysterious boy was “the one.”

There was simply no way I could be mishearing God at this point. If I heard from God at all — if I was, in any way, capable of hearing his voice — then I knew what he was saying here.

I’d finally met him. The one I’d been waiting for, hoping for, dreaming of.

I’d finally met my future husband.

Next: Read Chapter 7.

Image credits: Cover image by by Jo Jo on Unsplash. Second image of guy student worshiping by Hannah Busing on Unsplash. Third image of people sitting in church by Nicole Honeywill on Unsplash.