“It is not good that man should be alone; I will make him a helper comparable to him.”
— Genesis 2:18 (NKJV)
I was out walking Sunshine this morning, with thoughts stirring a little faster than I could keep up. I found myself thinking about the single man. I have blogged about married men and wives, about their shared calling, their shared storms, but what about the man in his own boat?
As I pondered this, the image settled into view: a flotilla, a gathering of boats, each on the same waters, each with its own journey. Some boats hold families. Some carry couples, leaning together as they face the wind. And then, among them, is the single man, alone in his vessel, yet still part of the flotilla. What does that feel like?
For some, it feels like freedom. For others, quiet contentment. But for many, if they’re honest, it feels like a curse. Something missing, something denied.
“God said He’d give me a helper, and I’m still waiting, what’s wrong with me?”
Those words echo in the hearts of many single men I’ve known, and even in a younger version of myself. It’s not uncommon to hear a man speak with resentment toward God, believing He’s withheld a promise. But as I walked today, I began to reflect on something I’d missed in the Genesis story.
When God said it wasn’t good for man to be alone, He didn’t say, “It’s not good for man to be without a wife.” What Adam needed wasn’t marriage, but relationship. A human companion. Someone to reflect love back, to speak, to share, to walk alongside. Even in Eden, even with God Himself walking in the cool of the day, man needed human presence as well as divine presence. That struck me deeply.
We are made for vertical and horizontal relationship. To know God, and to be known by others. The married man finds that in his wife; the single man must often look elsewhere. But that doesn’t mean God has abandoned him. In fact, the single man’s boat may not be empty, it may be spacious.
A boat with room for Christ to stand where another might have sat. A life with room to move freely among others in the flotilla, drawing alongside when someone is drifting or sinking. A heart not bound to one partner, but perhaps called to carry many in prayer, encouragement, or friendship.
Paul knew this. He was a single man with a life full to overflowing. He saw singleness not as a deficit, but as an opportunity for “undivided devotion to the Lord” (1 Corinthians 7:35). He didn’t deny the goodness of marriage, but he revealed the dignity of singlehood.
But this isn’t to say every single man feels content. Some long for a partner they’ve never found. Others have had chances but declined them, believing the woman wasn’t “quite right,” only to wonder years later if they misunderstood God’s provision. That’s a hard place to sit.
And that’s why this reflection isn’t a prescription. It’s not to say:
“Stop resenting. Just fill your boat with Jesus and you’ll be fine.”
No, it’s to say:
“Brother, you are not forgotten. Your story is still unfolding. The One who stands in your boat knows both your longing and your purpose. And the flotilla around you is still yours to belong to.”
So here we sit, in the tension of Genesis and Paul, of desire and devotion, of singleness and belonging. And perhaps the answer isn’t to solve the tension, but to hold it, gently, courageously, in the presence of God.
Let the single man in the boat know this today:
You may not be alone. And you were never abandoned. Your boat is not smaller, it is simply built for a different kind of journey. You still have horizon, purpose, and fellow travellers.
And Christ is not ashamed to stand in your boat, even when you feel the ache of the empty seat beside you.
Let this be your comfort: you are part of the story, part of the flotilla and part of God’s heart.
“I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
— Hebrews 13:5 (NKJV)
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