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One Day at a Time

By Jen Arens

You’ve no doubt heard the expression, "My life is like a soap opera." Well...

When I was 18, I began attending a Salvation Army church with a friend. Shortly thereafter, I made a commitment to Christ, quit college, and started working full time with the church. After holding various positions doing social and charity work, I began working with teens. Then I was offered a youth minister position, and I jumped at the opportunity. I was 23.

My life took a dramatic turn after I moved. For the first time I was on my own; my new city was much different than my sheltered hometown—and my insecurities increased when I realized I was in way over my head. I couldn’t relate to the kids I was working with, the adults in the congregation thought I was too snooty, and the loneliness was overwhelming.

Then "he" entered my life—the polished man who shows up in every soap opera. Handsome, stylish, and seemingly able to fill the void in my forlorn life. Looking back I realize I was blinded by my desire to be loved, and because of it, I compromised everything I believed in.

Shortly after I broke off this relationship, I found out I was pregnant. But when I called to let this guy know he was about to become a father, I found out he’d forgotten to tell me he was married. And because of my pregnancy, I also lost my job, some of my friends, and any witness I might have had with my congregation and family.

That was seven years ago. Today I have a beautiful, intelligent, and talented six-year-old son. I’m in youth ministry again, I’ve grown tremendously, and God is using the lessons I’ve learned to help me teach my students.

But I’m also a single parent. Which means my days are filled with attempting to spend even minimal time with my son, sifting through mounds of paperwork (that never seem to get any smaller), all while trying to work with the students in my programs.

Being a single parent also means I often have to convince the parents of these students that I am helping—not corrupting—their children. You see, single parenthood is a status that not every church—or church member—is comfortable with. I know that most youth workers, until they prove themselves, have to deal with suspicious moms and dads. But suspicions are heightened if you’re a single parent who was never married.

I’m also naturally boisterous and capricious. And while those traits are typically big hits with kids, they don’t always go over well with parents. A lot of them wish I acted more like a grown-up. Because of this, everyone thinks I need fixing—an assumption, while typically meant in the right spirit, that isn’t quite on the mark.

• When people see me running from event to event, they know deep down in their hearts that my ministry would be "much better" if I "just met a nice young man."
• They see my talkative and energetic kid who’s been dragged all over creation with every teenager in the city, and they’re convinced he’s not receiving the proper care he deserves—or at least the care they could give him.
• They see my disorderly office, my broken-down car, and my cluttered apartment, and believe God’s called them to help me get a little more organized.

It seems that with each passing day, my little soap opera spawns a new episode—and regular cast members and viewers alike all want to write their own fairy-tale endings.

"The Dating Game"
It doesn’t resemble the brightly colored, flower-speckled, too-hip-for-the-times set of the ’70s game show—it’s worse. Every blue-haired lady and her sister is convinced (because "God told me") that "this gentleman" is the one who can make all my dreams come true.

"I have the perfect guy for you," said the slightly graying woman. What was I supposed to say? If I say nothing, I thought, maybe she’ll get the hint. No such luck. Without pausing a moment for a breath, she blazed on with a report that he’s only a few inches shorter than me, but how I would love him in spite of his size. She finished by telling me that she didn’t want to give out my number without my permission. "Is it all right if I give him your number, sweetie?" Sweetie. (They always throw in that word.)

Although this woman didn’t attend my congregation, her daughter had been in my programs for months, so I assumed she knew how serious I was about my faith. But she completely misinterpreted my dedication to Jesus as a dedication to religion in general. Besides, he was serious about his religion, too. "Anyway," as she put it, "how different can Hindus really be from Christians?"

"Designing Women"
"Sweetie"—there’s that word again—"why don’t you let me take your son for a couple of hours so you can rest?" Although his teachers find him witty and bright, the teens beg me to bring him on outings, there’s a handful of women in my church who’re convinced I’m completely messing up my son. "That poor boy, he doesn’t have a chance in life," a lady once whispered a little too loudly. "He’s from a broken home and a pastor’s kid—two strikes against him is what I think." (I’m planning my next junior high all-nighter at that woman’s house is what I think.)

"Home Improvement"
"Can I help you fix your car?" I own a 1984 Volvo station wagon—what, pray tell, would need fixing? "Can I do anything for you in the office? You looked a little frazzled." Do I look frazzled—or does my office? Okay, I’m a little on the messy side. Isn’t that a requirement for youth ministry? So I had one little office fire—what’s the big deal? The firefighter said that fish-tank heaters catch on fire all the time.

"Say, how about if I come over with some of the other moms and help you clean that house of yours." Was she trying to tell me I should dust my place and clean my two-day-old dishes before the youth group comes over? What a concept.

What to do? How do I go from feeling like a permanent missionary project to getting some respect? How do I show the well-intentioned members of my congregation that God allowed me to be both a single parent and a youth worker? How do I break from the doldrums of my midday soap-opera life and into prime time?

"Living Single"
Most of the time I enjoy being single. But I hate being barraged with the possibility of marrying any one of the many eligible bachelors in the tricounty area. To curb a lot of suggestions and to hold myself accountable, I’ve come up with a list of what I require in a man before I will even consider dating him. My list is simple, and while it wouldn’t fly with a character on "Dawson’s Creek," it’s really helped me keep the dating thing in perspective. My first requirement is that the man love God more than I do. The second is that he’s either a member of—or willing to switch to—the congregation in which I minister. The third requirement is that my ministry will be better off if I have this person in my life. Now each time someone comes around calling me "sweetie," I recite my list. To this day no one has ever pushed me further.

"Too Close for Comfort"
When my son turned five, I started burning out. I was feeling that I couldn’t give the proper amount of time to my family and to my ministry—and that was confirmed when my congregation noticed I was struggling. So I prayed about it. I begged God to give me another ministry. But God didn’t give me another ministry. Instead God gave me a new outlook on my ministry. I evaluated my schedule and noticed that while I was spending a lot of time with my son, it was mostly time he spent tagging along as I ministered at church. I sat down with my senior pastor, explained the situation, and he agreed that my family must come first. So last fall I set aside two nights a week that are strictly for family. On those two nights, I plan no events, attend no meetings, and schedule no activities outside my home that include anybody other than my son. One night we even do the unthinkable—turning off the TV—and opting instead for games, special homework assignments, or anything else that might bring us closer together.

"7th Heaven"
"What are you doing for you?" A good friend’s question took me off guard. What was I doing for me? I don’t have time for me. Doesn’t she realize that the work I do is important? Doesn’t she understand that my son only has one parent, so I have to be both mother and father? Me? How can I have time for me? "If you don’t take time for you," she reasoned, "you’ll never be able to give to all the other areas of your life."

I thought about her statement. It made sense. In fact, she was right.

So these days I’m participating in a nondenominational Bible study for more than 300 women. I don’t teach anything, I don’t help with curriculum. I just participate. It’s done wonders for my life. I’m a better mom, a better youth worker, and a better follower of Christ for it.

I really don’t mind my soap opera-like existence. In fact, sometimes I sort of enjoy it. I still don’t have an answer for all the well-meaning folks who keep trying to fix my car, office, home, and my life. But when I think about it, most of the time those sorts of offers aren’t too annoying—and these people do mean well. God has truly blessed me, and I can’t complain.

Come to think about it, my life would make a good prime-time sitcom. It’s the perfect blend of drama and humor. Fabulous plots. A ready-and-willing studio audience. And enough oddball characters that would’ve given "Seinfeld" a run for its money.

I wonder if Elle McPhereson is between projects.

Jen Arens lives with her son, Mathijs, in McHenry, Illinois, a suburb northwest of Chicago. She is the community and youth ministries director for the Salvation Army in nearby Crystal Lake. Her major focus is coordinating Christian programs for kindergartners through senior highers. She especially enjoys spending time with her son, playing the tuba, practical jokes, and junior high lock-ins.