I'm tired of all this – so tired. My bed has been floating forty days
and nights on the flood of my tears. My mattress is soaked, soggy with tears.
The sockets of my eyes are black holes; nearly blind, I squint and grope.
(Ps. 6:6-7)
Steve worked at
a pharmacy, and his primary job was to deliver supplies to nursing homes in the
area. An additional task, however, involved a short trip next door. Every four
days he shouldered a large jug of water and carried it fifty or so feet to a
building behind the pharmacy. The customer was an older woman, perhaps in her
seventies, who lived alone in a dark, sparse and tarnished apartment. A single
light bulb hung from the ceiling. The wallpaper was stained and peeling; the
shades were drawn, and the room was shadowy. Steve would deliver the jug,
receive the payment, thank the woman and leave.
Over the weeks
he became more puzzled by her purchases. He learned that the woman had no other
source of water. She relied on his delivery for four days’ worth of washing,
bathing and drinking. Municipal water was cheaper; the city would have charged
her $12.00 to $15.00 a month; her expense at the pharmacy added up to $50.00 a
month. Why didn't she choose the less expensive source? The answer was in the
delivery system. Sure, the city water cost less, but the city sent only water;
they didn't send a person. She preferred to pay more and see a human being rather
than pay less and see no one.
Could anyone be
that lonely? It appears that David was. “Turn to me and be gracious to me, for
I am lonely and afflicted.” (Ps. 25:16) “I'm tired of all this – so tired. My
bed has been floating forty days and nights on the flood of my tears. My
mattress is soaked, soggy with tears. The sockets of my eyes are black holes; nearly
blind, I squint and grope.” (Ps. 6:6-7) “When they were sick, I dressed in
black; instead of eating, I prayed. My prayers were like lead in my gut, like
I'd lost my best friend, my brother. I paced, distraught as a motherless child,
hunched and heavyhearted. But when I was down they threw a party! All the
nameless riffraff of the town came chanting insults about me. Like barbarians
desecrating a shrine, they destroyed my reputation. YAHWEH, how long are you
going to stand there doing nothing?” (Ps. 35:13-17) David knew the feeling of
loneliness. He knew it in his family, too.
He was one of
eight sons of Jesse. But when Samuel the prophet asked to see Jesse's boys,
David was overlooked. The prophet counted and asked if there wasn't another
child somewhere. Jesse snapped his fingers like he'd forgotten his keys, "I
still have the youngest son. He’s out taking care of the sheep." (1 Sam.
16:11) Jesse's term for "youngest son" was not complimentary. He
literally said, "I still have the runt." Some of you may have been
the runt in your family. The runt is the one the others have to put up with,
and keep an eye on. And on this day the runt was left out. How would you feel
if a family meeting was called and your name wasn't? Things didn't improve, even
when he changed households.
His inclusion in
the royal family was King Saul's idea. His exclusion was Saul's idea, too. Had
David not ducked, he would have been pinned to the wall by the spear of the
jealous king. But David did duck, and David did run. For ten years. Into the
wilderness he ran. Sleeping in caves and surviving on wild animals. He was
hated and hunted like a jackal. David was no stranger to loneliness. And maybe you
aren't either.
You've probably figured
out that you don't have to be alone to feel lonely. Two thousand years ago, 250
million people populated the earth. Now, there are more than 5 billion. If
loneliness could be cured by the presence of people, then there should surely be
less loneliness today. But loneliness lingers. In fact, a person can be
surrounded by a church and still be lonely. Loneliness is not the absence of
faces; it’s the absence of intimacy. Loneliness doesn't come from being alone;
it comes from feeling alone. Feeling as if you’re facing death alone, facing
disease alone, or facing the future alone. Whether it strikes you in your bed
at night or on your drive 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 really care?
Loneliness shows
up everywhere. It litters the floors of boardrooms and clubs. We drag it into
parties, and usually drag it back out. You'll spot loneliness near the desk of
the over-worker, beside the table of the over-eater, and on the nightstand of
the one-night stander. We'll try anything to unload our loneliness; it’s one
bag we want to drop quickly. But should we? Should we be so quick to drop it?
Rather than turning from our loneliness, what if we turned toward it? Could it
be that loneliness is not a curse but a gift? Maybe even a gift from God?
It’s occurred to
me that, maybe, 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 iPod does. So, you scroll through his
collection, looking for your style of music – let’s say country-western. Nothing.
Nothing but his style of music – let’s say 80’s pop. It's a long trip, and you
can only talk to yourself for so long. So, eventually, you go to his playlist.
You'd prefer some steel guitar, but you're stuck with Abba. Initially it's barely tolerable, but at least it fills the
air. At first, you think it’s going to be your Waterloo and you’re getting ready to send out an S.O.S. But then Abba asks you to Take a Chance
on Me, and the next thing you know you’re singing Mama Mia, and trying to find Fernando.
"Hey, this isn't so bad," you think. So, let me ask you: would
you have made this discovery on your own? No. Abba? Not a chance.
So what led to
your discovery? What caused you to hear music you'd never heard before? Simple.
You had no other choice; no other option. You had nowhere else to go. Finally,
when the silence was too loud, you took a chance on some songs you'd never
heard before. And that’s 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. And so he begins deleting the playlists – 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 left is … God. He would do
that? Absolutely. "The Lord disciplines those he loves." (Heb. 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 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) Paul announced it: "He
is not far from each one of us." (Acts 17:27) And David discovered it:
"You are with me." (Ps. 23:4)
Somewhere in the
pasture, wilderness, or palace, David discovered that God meant business when
he said: "I will not leave you." (Gen. 28:15) "I will . . . not
forsake My people." (1 Kings 6:13) "The LORD will not abandon His
people." (Ps. 94:14) "God . . . will never leave you nor forsake you."
(Deut. 31:6) The discovery of David is the message of Scripture – the Lord is with us. And, since the Lord
is near, everything is different. Everything. You may be facing death, but you
aren't facing death alone; the Lord is with you. You may be facing
unemployment, but you aren't facing unemployment alone; the Lord is with you.
You may be facing marital struggles, but you aren't facing them alone; the Lord
is with you. You may be facing debt, but you aren't facing debt alone; the Lord
is with you. You are not alone.
Your family may
turn against you, but God won't. Your friends may betray you, but God won't.
You may feel alone in the wilderness, but you aren’t. He’s with you. And
because he is, everything is different. You
are different. You go from lonely to lovely. When you know God loves you, you
won't be desperate for the love of others. You'll no longer be a hungry shopper
at the market.
Have you ever
gone to the grocery store on an empty stomach? You're a sitting duck. You buy
everything you don't need. Doesn't matter if it’s good for you – you just want
to fill your stomach. And when you're lonely, you do the same thing – pulling stuff
off the shelf, not because you need it but because you’re hungry for love. Why
do we do it? Because we fear facing life alone. For fear of not fitting in, we
take the drugs. For fear of standing out, we wear the clothes. For fear of
appearing small, we go into debt and buy the too-big-house. For fear of going
unnoticed, we dress to seduce or impress. For fear of sleeping alone, we sleep
with anyone. For fear of not being loved, we search for love in all the wrong
places.
But all that
changes when we discover God's perfect love. And "perfect love casts out
fear." (1 John 4:18) Loneliness. Could it be one of God's finest gifts? Maybe. If a
season of solitude is his way to teach you to hear his song, don't you think
it's worth it? Me, too.
Grace,
Randy
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