by Phoebe Jones
Seminary did a very good job at teaching me that it would be really
hard—nay, impossible—to date anybody as a young clergywoman. “Don’t
even get your hopes up,” should have been printed on my diploma. I,
like many others, saw the flood of seminary classmates rushing down the
aisle before heading off on internship or to their first church. It
was not difficult to conclude that my chances of finding a rewarding
relationship would plummet with the laying on of hands at ordination.
Now, fortunately I wasn’t very good at the dating thing and didn’t mind
living alone, so it didn’t seem like a huge deal. I’d just experienced
the ending of a relationship gone sour, so was feeling particularly
inept at that kind of partnership. I also happen not to be a person
who has always craved children or a husband. So, it was kind of a bum
deal, but I had accepted and come to terms with the likelihood that I
would be a lifelong singleton.