When Our Lonely Places Become Sacred Spaces

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Today I’m over at Proverbs 31 talking about a little girl, an empty bench, and the hidden gift of loneliness. If you haven’t had a chance to read it, you can find it here.  But before you go, I’d love to tell you about the day God used a humble friend and His holy word to help me look at loneliness in a whole new way…

I swallowed a lump of tears and tried to coax my lips into an upward turn.  I willed myself to focus on the sweet friend who sat across from me, and I tried to corral my wandering thoughts and listen as she told a laugh-out-loud story about her son’s first date. I giggled at all the right times and hoped she didn’t notice that the laughter didn’t reach my eyes.

I loved this friend. We’d been sharing unfiltered life for years. We’d walked together through the good, the bad, and the ugly moments of parenting and marriage, friendship and faith. We’d prayed one another through the throes of potty-training and the woes of driver’s training.  We’d celebrated victories and grieved disappointments, too.

But on that day in the coffee shop even the comfortable conversation of a dear friend couldn’t cut through the loneliness that shrouded my heart. In fact, the lilt of laughter and the knowing nods merely magnified the ache inside.

I wasn’t alone, but I’d never felt lonelier…

Not when I’d lived overseas and lacked the local language for connection. Not when I’d rocked babies through the midnight hours with only their wails and my weariness swelling in the night. Not when an unexpected move uprooted our family of seven and planted us hundreds of miles from the place we’d called home.

I was walking through a season of disappointment that even my closest friends couldn’t completely understand. I knew this painful part of my story would one day bear fruit. But I felt like I might wither away in discouragement before I saw the first bloom.

Those who knew me best weren’t oblivious to my struggle. They had welcomed my vulnerability and tried to walk alongside of me in love. But the truth was this–Sometimes loneliness cuts the deepest when no one can reach the wound.

My friends could hold my heart it in prayer, but they couldn’t heal it.  They could acknowledge my disappointment, but they couldn’t assuage it. They could listen to my frustration, but they couldn’t fix it.

So I tried to be grateful for their grace and they tried to be sensitive to my struggle; and some days my heart fared better than others.

But on that ordinary day in the coffee shop, God used my friend to offer an unexpected balm for my tattered soul.

When our coffee cups were drained, she wrapped her arms around my sagging shoulders. “I don’t know if this means anything to you,” she said with a gentle murmur, “but I feel like God wants me to tell you that Jesus knows the lonely places, too…”

I swatted a drizzle of tears that zig-zagged down my cheeks and thanked her for the poignant reminder. Then, I let my friend give me an extra squeeze before we parted ways.

That night when I settled into bed with my Bible, I opened the fifth chapter of Luke and read a timely echo of my friend’s Spirit-prompted words.

“But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” (Luke 5:16)

I let that verse roll through my mind over and over again and thought about the meaning tucked into those nine words.

Jesus not only knew the lonely places, he chose them.

He didn’t run from the lonely places, He ran to them.

Because Jesus knew that in the desolate spaces, He wasn’t really alone. His Father was always there waiting.

I let that truth seep over me and, suddenly, I saw my own loneliness in a new light.

What if loneliness isn’t meant to drive us to the edge of haplessness but to push us to the center of Hope?

I wanted someone to step into my struggles and heal my pain, but God was inviting me to step into His presence and be held.

I longed for comfort from the friends around me, but God was offering consolation through His Spirit within me.

I wanted someone to listen to my hurt and understand, but God was inviting me to talk to Him and be understood.

Perhaps what looks like a lonely place to our eyes is merely a sacred space in disguise.

As I spoke the words of Luke 5:16 out loud, I closed my eyes and pictured Jesus.

“But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.”

I saw him there, in that lonely place he knew so well, his eyes lifted to Heaven, his heart reaching for His Father.

And in the quaking quiet of my bedroom, I shifted my gaze and did the same.

“Yet He transforms a dry, lonely desert into pools of living water, parched ground into lively springs.” (Psalm 107:35)

Thanks for spending a moment with us at The Overflow today. If you are in a season of loneliness, please know that you’re not alone. We are here to pray for you. Just leave a note in the comments or simply write, “I need prayer.”