My loneliest moment recently was last Sunday night. My friends didn't go out after the service, so I instead went to the Target lot, at 8 p.m., in the rainy blackness, and bought a Christmas tree only I and Charlie Brown could love.
I brought it home, set it up on a side table, wrapped cloth Christmas napkins around the base for a skirt and hung all the ornaments I have collected throughout the years. Creating beauty for myself alone rung hollow. I wanted to tell the stories behind the ornaments, to revel in living joy rather than haunt remembered happiness.
Since my last posting, readers have responded with lovely words, both publicly and privately. I was especially struck by my anonymous friend's comment: "We have found God necessary by having found Him insufficient."
The idea of God as insufficient rings so true to the human experience and also carries strong notes of suspected heresy. We who are indwelt are never alone. We have the Paraclete, and the example of God-With-Us, our Emmanuel. This season, as we meditate on the intertwining of God and man, many of us feel more alone than ever. God is both so present and so absent.
In the midst of loneliness, I think of my ennui as a social--rather than a spiritual--condition. I look to people to fill my echoing heart, rather than to my Emmanuel. In the midst of pain, comments about heaven and God irritate me with their triteness. I don't feel better for hearing about heaven, because heaven's still a long time off. Probably. I think.
To let Emmanuel in, to allow Him to fill the lonely core of my soul, I have to accept His will for my life. I have to give up what I think my life "should" look like at this point. I have to surrender my bitterness, my anger, my frustration, my disappointment. I have to sacrifice my dreams and my primacy of self. I have to acknowledge that my life is His, and that He gets to direct it.
None of which I can do. I can't change my perspective. I can't want to change, or want to want to change, without His grace. But, He is the lover of my soul, and knows best how to craft it. It seems loneliness is a tool that works on my heart, and so He continues to use it.
But of course we are lonely, for we are far from home. Come, Lord Jesus, Come.
9 years ago
4 comments:
In reflecting on what you've shared, I find I can relate to the lessons God has been teaching you through the loneliness. I think this could be titled "On Pain", and we'd all relate in some way or another, whether the pain is caused by loneliness, loss, or (in my case) a deep sense of disappointment.
For example, I look at your last sentence and think, "But of course we are [disappointed], for we are far from home. Come, Lord Jesus, Come."
Thank you for sharing what you are feeling - the ways you process it helps me process my own pain.
Dawn
And that, Dawn, is the order in the chaos. I've reiterated so many times (sorry if this is just too repetitive) that I really feel there is one pain, and that it just takes on various symptoms. We all suffer the same disease.
I'm sorry you are disappointed this season. I'm glad we're walking together.
Am enjoying and reflecting on both the posts and the comments. Thank you, Annie, for sharing.
Debbie P.
: )
thanks for sharing.
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