When I was a teenager I was obsessed with S.E. Hinton’s novel The Outsiders. More than anything, I loved Ponyboy’s relationship with his older brother Sodapop. The two shared a bed (because of Ponyboy’s nightmares), and in my own writing and imaginings about the brothers, my favorite part of their relationship was that physical intimacy. They were happy with each other. Ponyboy admits he loves Soda more than he’s ever loved anyone.

Of course, since I was a teenage girl, it’s only logical that people would wonder, “Maybe you just want a boyfriend like Sodapop.” And, perhaps. But to be honest, at the root of it all what I longed for (and still do) is to be Ponyboy. That is, to be Soda’s brother (or in my case, sister)—to be comforted by him, to hug him. To have a permanent companion. I don’t desire a sexual relationship; as soon as I imagine that relationship turning romantic, it doesn’t feel right.

There is something beautiful about platonic intimacy, but this is strangely difficult to explain to anyone who doesn’t feel the same. I’ve tried to over the years, and I’ve realized many people do not seem to value platonic love much. They don’t understand how it could be just as valuable, just as desirable, as romantic love.

A pastor and I recently spoke about marriage being, in essence, created for three purposes: companionship, sexual fulfillment, and procreation. My question for him was, if I desire companionship but not the other two, is marriage the only option? God created Eve as a companion for Adam. Does that mean the ideal companion, on Earth, is someone of the opposite sex?

This pastor said no. Scripture does not say companionship comes only through marriage, although one could make that argument based on Genesis 2.

And many do make that argument. It seems the only realistic road to a permanent relationship with another person is marriage: lifelong commitment to someone of the opposite sex. Is this true, or is it a result of sin? Can a God-honoring friendship mean just as much to someone like me?

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What is God’s will, truly?

I may never know. But there have been times in life I’ve found sentiments eerily similar to my own, and the first thing I do with these is filter them through God’s Word.

Take the book Never Married Women. Written by Barbara Levy Simon in the 80’s, it is basically a survey of 50 older women (born between 1884 and 1918) who never married. Simon looks at their reasons for remaining single: their jobs, their relationships with family, social life, intimate relationships, and how they live during retirement.

I don’t agree with every statement in this book. Certainly there are some women who seem, for lack of a better term, anti-marriage or even anti-men. They think marriage by definition puts women down and oppresses them. I don’t have those views at all. I know from Scripture and experience that marriage is meant to be a beautiful, complimentary relationship.

However, there are women in this book who don’t see the point of marriage, or don’t see what marriage will give them above friendship. This I understand. What is most astounding about the book is how hardworking and satisfied these women are in their lives. They love their work, their families, and their friends. Some had desired to marry but simply never did; others preferred their family or friends to a husband or did not want children. What comes through the most in these anecdotes is just how passionate these women are and how much they serve and love others.

We run this through Scripture. Of course, being anti-marriage is not Biblical. But if a woman has no desire to have a husband, God does not condemn her. In fact, it seems to be just fine with God. As Jesus says, “For there are eunuchs who were born that way. (Matt. 19:12).” Many of these women lived with a friend or family member and saw that person as the most important person in their lives. “I shared everything with her. She did the same with me. … We stayed roommates for 57 years,” one woman says. “She leaned on me all those years just like I relied on her. (92)” Another says that over 61 years, she and her friend Roberta have “seen three continents together, lost all our parents together, pooled our money and assets for more than 50 years, and shared every friend either of us has ever had. I rely on her in every imaginable way. But, happily, that’s a two-way street. (102)”

Are these women in some way sinning by choosing to live with a best friend, and not a husband? Let’s look at Scripture. Does God disapprove of friendships deep enough to provide the love and companionship that might otherwise come through marriage? I don’t see anywhere that he does.

The question is, by finding long-term companionship with friends, not husbands, are these women somehow committing sins? Does longing for long-term, permanent companionship have to mean marriage? If I do not desire to have children or a sexual relationship, it makes sense that I might live with a dear friend for years. God does not condemn this. It is, however, hard to live this way. Most women seem to desire husbands and children. (And perhaps I am sinful to not desire that as much as I should. But that’s another topic.) Were these women simply lucky to have met other like-minded women? How does the Christian woman meet other like-minded women? Do they even exist?

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For me, it’s about more than just living together or remaining celibate. I want to love a friend. I want to hug a friend, to be her most important person.

Is this sinful? Looking at Scripture, I don’t think so. Scripture doesn’t have much to say about friendship in this regard.

On this topic, another book that reflects many of my own thoughts is Surplus by Sylvia Stevenson. This novel is about a woman who falls in love with another woman post-WWI, though her friend does not feel the same. But the main character, Sally, discovers so much about herself and makes so many observations that I myself have made many times. Where has Surplus been all my life? I feel as if Stevenson hacked into my brain and wrote my own thoughts on paper.

Take this quote. Sally’s friend Celia says that her love for her friend, and Celia’s love for her boyfriend, are very different. Sally, confused, says, “Because of the sex part, you mean? Can’t you even imagine a love that hasn’t any sex? Just being with the person you love …. If another girl happens to be the person, is it my fault? (207)”

Fault is not the word I would use; I would say, is it wrong? Look at Scripture.

I want to quote an entire block of Sally’s thinking here toward the end of the book, because it is just so good. I’ve never read anything that puts my own thoughts into words so well. She says,

“‘This sex instinct—all the books I’ve read, and the people I’ve met who have worshipped it, sneered at me because I had so little of it, till they make me hate the very word, made me at last believe that the biggest love couldn’t exist without it. And they made as big a mistake as I did in being afraid. It’s necessary to the business of keeping the world supplied with population, and there’s nothing ugly about it [Scripture would add there are many beautiful things about it], nothing to be afraid of, or to hide in dark corners. But—it’s not necessary to love.’

It came upon Sally with the force of a new truth that love, and not the reproductive instinct, is the greatest force in the world—the only human attribute that is indestructible by time, that is certain to survive time, if humanity itself survives. And it had nothing whatever to do with the question of sex. The flower may spring up in a cornfield, or in a bare patch of earth—it is the same flower, as beautiful, as sweet scented. So love may exist alongside passion, or without it—it is the same power, greater than any instinct. … And to limit the fullest manifestation of that power to beings, between whom the physical tie of matehood or parenthood exists, is like declaring that electricity can only be generated by one particular kind of dynamo. (Stevenson 297-98)”

Is this not Biblical? Think about it. I have for years.

I see nothing in Scripture that condemns or even says anything negative about friendship like this. In fact Christ’s love for us, for his disciples, was celibate love.

Not that “what I want” is the center of life; on the contrary, I want what God wants. But he has put desires in my heart, and inasmuch as I do have longings and he wants me to be honest with him—here, then, God, is my heart, bare to you.

I long for a friend. A companion. A dear friend I can live with and love, and who will love me and live with me, until we die.

Perhaps marriage is the only answer to this. But then, why David and Jonathan? Why Paul and Timothy? I look at David and Jonathan and for me, that would be enough. I desire a friend, not a husband. Not that I would turn down a husband—but friendship is the root, and ultimately that is what I prefer to sexual intimacy. If I had a friend like Jonathan—who loved me that much, whom I loved that much—why would I need another relationship?

Of those three purposes of marriage–companionship, sex, and procreation–I desire only companionship. Does that mean marriage is the only answer, since most who desire marriage desire the other two purposes as well?

Is that the answer, God?