Max Lucado Wrote:
Loneliness is not the absence of faces. It is the absence of intimacy. Loneliness doesn’t come from being alone; it comes from feeling alone. Feeling as if you are . . .
facing death alone, facing disease alone, facing the future alone.
Whether it strikes you in your bed at night or on the way to the hospital, in the silence of an empty house or the noise of a crowded bar, loneliness is when you think, I feel so alone. Does anyone care?
Bags of loneliness show up everywhere. They litter the floors of boardrooms and clubs. We drag them into the parties and usually drag them back out. You’ll spot them near the desk of the overworker, beside the table of the overeater, and on the night stand of the one night stand. We’ll try anything to unload our loneliness. This is one bag we want to drop quickly.
But should we? Should we be so quick to drop it? Rather than turn from loneliness, what if we turned toward it? Could it be that loneliness is not a curse but a gift? A gift from God?
Wait a minute, Max. That can’t be. Loneliness heavies my heart. Loneliness leaves me empty and depressed. Loneliness is anything but a gift.
You may be right, but work with me for a moment. I wonder if loneliness is God’s way of getting our attention.
Here’s what I mean. Suppose you borrow a friend’s car. His radio doesn’t work but his CD player does. You rummage through his collection, looking for your style of music—let’s say, country-western. But you find nothing but his style of music—let’s say classical.
It’s a long trip and you can only talk to yourself for so long. So you eventually reach for a CD. You’d prefer some steel guitar, but you’re stuck with soaring tenors. Initially it’s intolerable. At least it fills the air. But eventually it’s enjoyable. Your heart picks up the pattern of the kettle drums, you head rolls with the cellos, and you even catch yourself attempting a little Italian aria. “Hey, this isn’t so bad.”
Now, let me ask you. Would you have made this discovery on your own? No. What led to it? What caused you to hear music you’d never heard before? Simple. You had no other choice, no other option. You had no where else to go. Finally, when the silence was too loud, you took a chance on a song you’d never heard.
Oh, how God wants you to hear his music.
He has a rhythm that will race your heart and lyrics that will stir your tears. You want to journey to the stars? He can take you there. You want to lie down in peace? His music can soothe your soul.
But first, he’s got to get rid of that country-western stuff. (Forgive me Nashville. Only an example.)
And so he begins tossing the CDs. A friend turns away. The job goes bad. Your spouse doesn’t understand. The church is dull. One by one he removes the options until all you have is God.
He would do that? Absolutely. “The Lord disciplines those he loves” (Hebrews 12:6). If he must silence every voice, he will. He wants you to hear his music. He wants you to discover what David discovered and to be able to say what David said. “You are with me.”
Yes, you, Lord are in heaven. Yes, you rule the universe. Yes you sit upon the stars and make your home in the deep. But yes, yes, yes you are with me.
The Lord is with me. The Creator is with me. Yahweh is with me.
Moses proclaimed it: “What great nation has a god as near to them as the Lord our God is near to us (Deut. 4:7). ~Max Lucado, Traveling Light: Thomas Nelson, Inc., 2001) 105-09
