It’s been a long time since I’ve dwelt on my loneliness.
Of all the fears I have in this mortal world, to be alone is the most fierce of them all. It’s a feeling that’s been present for as long as I’ve known time, stretching back into my earliest of days. I never got on the bandwagon of cooties as a child; girls never intimidated me like they did my friends, and as I grew older it was a feature I prided myself on for no particular reason. Of course, I found myself out of my element as soon as puberty hit, and I realized that I lacked every possible quality I might need to fulfill my heart’s desire of romantic companionship. I can’t exaggerate how intensely I felt that desire, even in middle school – I cried out to God on more than a few nights asking for one, and one thing only: a true love, a woman that I could love, and that would love me. It was a longing I oft confessed to my mentors, and I wonder how they managed to take a preteen so seriously on the issue, but I’m grateful that they did. My Christian companions tended to lob the canned answer that I should want what God wants – and that may or may not include a lover. I certainly attempted to do just that, but part of my slow distrust of God’s ability to hear or answer grew straight from the fact that no answer came, and year after year, I found myself alone.
As time marched on, I eventually realized what many self-proclaimed “nice guys” tend to ignore: that there are basic rules of the game that must be played, and that being virtuous doesn’t enable one to abandon the subtleties of romance and attraction. My first and most important conclusion was that before I could share my life with another person, I must have a life I feel is worth sharing. How can you love another if you do not even love yourself? How can you honestly believe that another loves you, when you cannot do so yourself? So I went about the business of learning to love myself, as well as making myself into the person I wanted to be, a self that I could love. It’s where my writing started, my running, my tattoo, my clothes. Much of that came simply with maturity and time, but I believe strongly that who I am is quite purposeful. Perhaps that’s just arrogance – and I would certainly be a fool to claim I am anywhere near self-made – but I do know that I set out to better myself, that I had a desire, and that desire was met.
So now as I look upon the death of my first, true relationship, I find myself asking myriad questions, while the chilling tendrils of that old loneliness takes its grip upon me once more. I’ve thought back to my childhood, and I wonder if God gave me what I asked for, and simply took it away, or if this were his way of reigning me in, as if to tell me “You can have a taste of what you seek, but you won’t have it until you kneel!”, or as a third possibility, “I will not grant you what you seek and you will live your life unfulfilled, but for your impatience your punishment will be to know how unfulfilled you truly are”.
It is ironic, to me, that I would consider God in any part of this equation, after I claim such control of myself. But the end of all this has brought me to the simple realization that I truly have no control over anything. I could try to claim that I brought her into my life, that it was my confidence and strength that brought it all to pass – and I think, for a time, I believed that – but correlation is not causation. When all is said and done, I did not decide her choices. I can only be grateful for what came to pass, and do my best to be deserving of what I receive. I celebrate the fact that I am not haunted by regret and that I can walk away with a handful of wisdom – but I find the path before me to be more daunting than I’d ever imagined. My fortune feels very far removed from my control, and waiting to see what these next months will hold for me is not an exciting prospect. I’m in a lonely place, with little to do but work and study, and not enough money to pursue the many hobbies I once had.
God continues to shower me in silence despite my simultaneous fury and terror, but as hard as I try, I cannot evict my pondering over his intentions and desires. Though I no longer believe Yahweh is this same as this silent God that seems to taunt me, my desire to do his will truly has not lessened, and I’m curious to see what opportunities he presents to me in the dull days ahead.
It’s pretty much standard rhetoric that God will only come into our lives, change them, and speak to us if we ask him to. It may be standard and somewhat bland, but I think that it is true. That relationship does not look like this though,
“This is what I want. What do you think God? Now I will compare what I want with what God says is good for me, and decide that I know better.”
The result of that, while terribly sad, actually comes with little surprise to me.
2 Corinthians 6:14
Proverbs 31:30 (or the entire chapter, but for me that specific verse has always had more meaning)
God’s entrance into my life in any kind of a tangible way has always and only been when I hand over the reigns entirely. Failure to do so has always led to silence and most often total failure in the things I pursue in His absence.
You’re tossing Bible verses at me to validate your point when I don’t consider the Bible a particularly valid source, and if I read what you’re saying right, you’re telling me that it failed because I forsook God, but I’m not really sure I did forsake God – that was one of the basic questions of my post.
I know you mean well, but seriously, but you’re way overstepping your bounds to try and suggest that. Cool it.
“I know you mean well, but seriously, but you’re way overstepping your bounds to try and suggest that. Cool it.”
Bounds… on a public and free access blog. I wonder what your response would have been had I posted anonymously.
My point was clear.
You are setting the rules for God, something that I’m pretty sure the God of the Bible you are “waiting to hear from” doesn’t acknowledge.
I’ve always loved you as a brother, so do me a favor and don’t give me the cold shoulder just because I pushed a button you didn’t like. We’ve known each other entirely too long for that.
We don’t have to agree, and you are welcome to ignore what I say, but I feel some responsibility at least to state that opinion – even if you choose to ignore it.