I walk through campus on a dreary fall day, bundled clumsily from head to toe in a sweatshirt, vest, joggers, and tennis shoes. Only my hands are exposed, and a cool breeze comes into contact with my ring, sending an icy chill up my wrist. I look down at the simple silver hoop with a modest, sparkling row of embedded diamonds on my left hand finger, and feel nothing but giddy.

No, I’m not recently engaged.

My beloved band is a purity ring—a symbol of my decision to abstain from sex until marriage. And, as of recently, the ring has also become a symbol of my choice to abstain from dating for the next three months.

So… giddy? That response doesn’t make much sense. The purity ring is essentially a soft-core chastity belt, even more so until spring returns. What gives?

The truth is, I’m happy to be pursuing this three months of singlehood. I’ve never felt healthier or more confident in my entire life.

This response may seem sort of counter-cultural, considering society tends to view romantic love as the pinnacle of the human experience. And I used to think this way, too. For the majority of my adolescence and young adult life, I really wanted a boyfriend. I had a stupid, pathetic amount of desire to be in a relationship.

And finding one hasn’t always been easy. I grew up in a small town. Like, population 400, graduating class of 21, one stop light, farmland as far as the eye can see small town. My family has lived in St. Paul, Oregon for generations, so growing up there made pretty slim pickings for guys that I could date, because most of them are my cousins. So that constant longing for a knight in shining armor on a trusty white steed (or, more appropriately, a dirt-covered farm boy on a quad) was never truly quenched.

Don’t get me wrong, my “love life” hasn’t been completely uneventful. I’ve met a few guys and have gone on a few dates in high school and college, but nothing ever really went anywhere. And, honestly, I was fine with that, because I never seemed to really connect with any of them anyway. But still, that want remained, and I would grovel in it more than occasionally.

I would see my friends in happy, healthy relationships, and wonder what was wrong with me. After a few years, my self-pity reached new heights, and after several failed attempts at relationships, I just gave up on boys. (This “giving up” isn’t the same thing as my pledge to remain single for three months—stay with me.)

Taking a step back from dating was healthy for me, because my longing for boys had caused me to seek them more than a relationship with God. I was able to rekindle an intimate relationship with Jesus, and also had time to take a step back and look at myself a bit.

What I found changed my life.

When I took a look at myself, I realized that it wasn’t really a boyfriend that I wanted. I wanted comfort when I was anxious. I wanted stability. I wanted somebody to make me happy. I wanted to feel secure and worthy of love.

Sound familiar? What a load to dump on some poor boy, right?

One night, after an long day of school, work, and choir, I was laying on my bed, feeling super exhausted—but more than that, I was feeling unsatisfied. I had gotten a bad grade on a test that day, I hadn’t eaten much since breakfast, and most of all, I was bummed that my love life still hadn’t seemed to be getting anywhere.

In moments like that, you sort of just know you need Jesus time.

And that night, He really showed up.

I grabbed my study Bible from the floor. Earlier that day, I had cleaned my room, and remember seeing a few of its pages turn when I folded a blanket caused a slight breeze. It was conveniently opened to Psalm 63, and the very first thing I read was the theme, written above the chapter.

“A desire for God’s presence, provision and protection. No matter where we are, our desire should be for God because only he satisfies fully.”

You know when you read a scripture and it sort of jumps out at you, and it’s all you can see for a couple of moments? As if God himself put it in front of you, knowing it’s what you needed to hear? All I could do was stare and blink, and reread the words, over and over again. I think I even laughed. Then I proceeded to read the chapter.

Verse 1 reads, “You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water.”

Yeah, sounds like me.

And verse 5: “I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you.”

That is the satisfaction I really need.

I thought that if I had a boyfriend to take care of me, I would feel better about my problems. But only Jesus satisfies those needs. He’s the knight on the shining four wheeler that I’m really looking for.

Next to my bed is a small teal bowl full of my rings, including my purity ring. For the first time in a long time, I put it on—but not on my normal right-hand ring finger. Instead, I put my ring on my left ring finger. And a few days later, after a talk with my good friend, I started my pledge of temporary singleness.

But, aren’t you worried that if you wear a ring on your ring finger, or tell guys that you’re staying single for the next few months, that guy will think the wrong thing?

For the next three months, I’m not worried about what boys think, period.

Even after my pledge is up, I’ll probably continue to wear my purity ring on the same finger, and the right guy will get it. If a man thinks I’m engaged, or figures out it’s a purity ring, and doesn’t pursue a friendship because something romantic is all that he is interested in, he obviously isn’t worth my time.

I wear my purity ring with pride, and now embrace and own my single-ness. I walk around feeling assured because it doesn’t matter that I’m single—I have already been chosen.