When you are lonely but afraid to admit it
In grade
school, I was a troublemaker.
When our
math teacher warned that the next person who spoke would be kicked out of the
test, I was compelled to ask if he meant ‘now’.
During
French class, sounding like a crazed Julia Child, I asked loudly and repeatedly,
“Ou est le salle de bain?” Although surely I knew the bathroom was across the
hall.
I excelled
at making my classmates laugh. Which might lead you to believe that I was
beloved by all.
Nothing
was further from the truth. I was so lonely that I joined the swim team so I
could earn the right to sit at the popular kids table during lunch.
Although I
became a state swimming champion and received an athletic scholarship to the
University of Michigan, I never made it to the popular table.
Even now,
so many years later, people often confuse my ready smile with ease and
extroversion. But my closest friends recognize when I’ve retreated into my
house for too long and need to be called back into the world.
Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and
afflicted. (Psalm 25:16)
Loneliness
is insidious and invisible to the casual observer.
I take it
for granted in my own life, but recently I was surprised to find it surface in
friends who I assumed were surrounded and nourished by loved ones.
But that’s
the mask of loneliness.
It hides
behind busy-ness. Your lovely friend who volunteers for every committee, the
one who is known as a people-connector, or the quiet one who smiles and nods as
we sit around a table talking not noticing her silence.
Being
lonely has nothing to do with being alone.
It is all
too often that after an evening spent with friends, I come home and realize
that the blue dog of loneliness has slipped into the house behind me and is now
curled at my feet as I turn on the TV and pick up my knitting.
Or at the
end of a meal, just as companionable conversation begins to approach real
intimacy, we glance at our watches, pay the check, and reach for our coats.
We don’t
do it on purpose. We don’t notice the nudge of need, except for that closing of
our throats as we try to tell someone how we’re doing.
But we
stop ourselves, embarrassed at the burden of our vulnerability.
We are in
the company of friends so how could we feel lonely?
But
recall, on the night before he was crucified, Jesus went up the mountain to
pray. He knew what he faced and so he asked his disciples, his closest friends,
to wait with him, to keep him company on his last night on Earth, on the last
night before he would suffer unspeakable pain and degradation.
He was
only gone an hour, not more, just a short time to pray and ask his father if
this cup of suffering could be taken away. He knew the answer, of course it
could not.
He
returned to his friends and found them asleep.
Alone and heartbroken.
Jesus understood he would face the darkness alone.
(And
therefore you must share your loneliness with Jesus. He understands your desolation
and despair. His heart will hold your pain and replace it with love.)
Companionship
is when we share a meal, a walk through snowy woods, a movie.
Intimacy
is manna from heaven created for souls to find in each other and in our
relationship with God.
Which loneliness
seeks to devour. It isolates us and tells the lie that we are no longer loved
or needed. That the one who died or left us was the only one who could save us.
It builds walls around us so that all we hear is the echo of our emptiness.
But
loneliness is a paper tiger. Easily, effortlessly destroyed with time and
attention.
The most
effective weapons against loneliness are unremarkable.
Looking
someone in the eye when they speak to us.
Listening
without interruption, without hurrying to make a comparison.
Giving the
gift of undivided attention. Asking how they are doing and waiting for more,
after they tell us they are fine.
It’s not
easy to open our heart to the loneliness of another person because we might unearth
our own.
We want to
skate across the surface of our relationships. And most of the time that is all
we need.
But we
should open our heart to seeing a friend or acquaintance who may on occasion,
if only for an hour, need the soul-linking of real conversation. To know they are
seen and heard, and no longer invisible.
Time and
attention are the blade of our most fearsome weapon. Love.
And when
we are the one who is lonely, we must gather our courage and reach out. Find
our most trusted friend and say, “I am lonely, can we talk?”
And know
that it is okay, because. We are all lonely. We are all afraid of the dark. We
are all souls longing for connection.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Comments