| by
Mary Beth Johnson
“Lord, please help me find someone to talk to.”
That was my prayer as I walked into the dining room
for the first time at the Blue Ridge Christian Writer’s
Conference. The weight of my supper tray equaled the
dread I felt, searching for someone in a room large
enough to hold 350 people - none of whom I knew.
I exchanged pleasantries with an older couple in line
in front of me, who then invited me to join them as
they sat at a partially filled table. Before dinner
was over, I learned that they knew a college friend
of my husband’s, and that another lady at the
table knew one of my colleagues.
In meeting Mr. and Mrs. Smith and the others that night
at dinner, the Lord reminded me that I wasn’t
alone.
Ironically, I had looked forward to going to the week-long
conference in the North Carolina mountains alone. I
was even guiltily glad that no one from the office had
come with me so I could be by myself and away from everything
and everybody back home. I considered a week alone in
the mountains a gift. It had been a long time since
I had time and space all to myself.
Before Jeff and I married in 2003, I had gotten used
to living alone and setting my own schedule. Four years
before, my first husband, Mitch, and our nine-year-old
son, Joseph, both died in a private plane crash. After
this terrible tragedy, I learned to live alone only
through the grace of God. I adjusted to the new “normal.”
I could eat breakfast at 7 or 8 a.m. on Saturday morning
or decide not to get up until later to go meet friends
for lunch. I had my bedroom painted moss green, did
the laundry when I wanted, didn’t cook, and talked
as long as I wanted on the phone.
So why had I felt alone and nervous at the prospect
of having dinner with people I didn’t know in
a place I had chosen to go and to be alone?
Sometimes the gift of aloneness is like the crocheted
tissue box cover your Aunt Sally gives you at Christmas,
or the CD/DVD player you thought you were getting from
your parents for your new apartment, but instead you
get a vacuum cleaner you don’t really need or
want.
Feeling alone can be worse than actually being alone.
A friend of mine, looking back on a difficult time in
her life, said, “I had my children, my parents
and other friends and family around, but yet my heart
felt so alone. I have to admit that I thought God had
abandoned me too because I had prayed earnestly that
He would take care of these circumstances.”
Emotions can cause us, like the children of Israel,
to forget God’s power and how He has cared for
and brought us to where we are today. We can also forget
that we aren’t going to always understand His
ways (Numbers 14:1–4). Being alone can also make
us feel sorry for ourselves like Elijah (1 Kings 19:10).
But in truth we are never alone. We have the Holy Spirit
to comfort us, teach us, and help us (John 16:1-16).
What can be done when aloneness is a drag and doesn’t
seem like a great gift? Here are some suggestions for
making the best of alone time:
1. Read the Psalms. This poetic book is filled with
reminders of God’s love and care.
2. Journal. Pour out your feelings to the One who knows
exactly how you’re feeling.
3. Reach out. Is there someone at work or church who
is alone that could use a friend too?
4. Get outside. Enjoy the beauty of God’s creation
and let it remind you of His presence.
In the book, Mother Teresa: No Greater Love, she is
quoted: “We too are called to withdraw at certain
intervals into deeper silence and aloneness with God.
... not with our books, thoughts, and memories but completely
stripped of everything, to dwell lovingly in God’s
presence—silent, empty, expectant, and motionless.”
“There is a time for everything, and a season
for every activity under heaven” (Ecclesiastes
3:1), and so it is with aloneness. We will all have
times of being alone, whether we’ve chosen them
or not. But what we do with that time and how we choose
to spend it is up to us.
Works Cited:
References are from the New Living Translation Study
Bible. |
