I am rarely alone these days.
It’s not good.
It felt dangerous to be alone this week. When I was, every ounce of bottled emotion released its fury. My throat tightened. My stomach knotted. I forgot how to breathe. This is foreign terrain for me. I am a lover of alone. Alone is sacred to me. It is my sanity. It is where I learn to breathe again – my morning quiet, a few hours of retreat or a sunny Sabbath afternoon.
I am an extrovert by nature. I am energized by people, but when I choose to be alone, I am energized by God. But now these raw emotions invade my solitude. They threaten even a 10 minute car ride to pick up a child from practice. I long for these tiny quiet interludes, but now it threatens my attempts at stability.
It makes me wonder.
Many people resist being alone. Being alone can be hard, and now I see, painful. Is a portion of this equation the raw emotions that rise up from an unhealed (untended) heart?
Have you ever hidden from quiet? From time alone?
Are there unhealed wounds woven into your soul?
Is heartbreak too close at hand?
I’m learning that grief is the private work of loss – often a solo journey within the soul. To mourn, is to speak of this grief out loud. To give it a voice, if only to God. To grieve is important. To mourn is to heal.
…I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow…They will be like a well-watered garden, they will sorrow no more. Jeremiah 31:13b & 12d
In time. This is a promise that will be fulfilled in time. Does quiet unearth those places in your heart that are tender to the touch and hard to name? Let God have his way. Great things happen in dark, quiet places.
Ask – if you will, a butterfly.