I felt it again the other day.
All alone. Even though I was surrounded by people.
It’s funny to me how I can still feel that way, even though I’ve been sober for many years, now.
In the beginning, I remember feeling wonderful as I realized I was not alone! Other people were describing what I’d been feeling all my life, and I finally belonged—I’d found my tribe! They understood me!
But it wasn’t long before I began to feel that old anxious apartness again … I didn’t really belong. I wasn’t really like them. They had it all together. They had figured it all out. I was still different.
That urge to hang out with my fellow men, to be where the excitement was … that honestly almost led me to drink again. The pull was that strong. But by the Grace of God, and a lot of hard work, I learned how to stay sober regardless of anyone or anything. I learned to rely on God, talk to Him, and claim His promises. And I stayed sober.
So why was I feeling alone the other day? Why do I still feel misunderstood sometimes—or (dare I say it?) neglected? It’s not because no one cares … but perhaps because they all do care—about those who are new to recovery. It’s natural to focus on someone who is just starting their journey. They need so much extra attention and love.
I don’t begrudge them that. But sometimes … well, I guess I wonder if anyone notices that I occasionally feel my batteries are depleted, too?
It’s easy for me to dismiss those feelings, thinking I’m merely feeling a wave of self-pity.
Well, I don’t know, but so far, the only answer to my dilemma is to get quiet … and small. I need to be back at that cave mentioned in 1 Kings 19, with Elijah, admitting I am scared and alone.
I need to feel small, because that’s when God gets really big!
He always asks the same question He asked back then: “What are you doing here?”
I’m hiding in a cave.
Scared of the earthquake.
Of the wind. Of the Fire.
Of Myself.
And like Elijah, I usually am feeling alone. The only one who is trying. The only one who has stayed faithful.
What a sad (and inaccurate) self-appraisal! I need God to connect me to the “seven thousand in Israel, all whose knees have not bowed to Baal.”
But more importantly, I need to hear His voice.
And feel right-sized.
I need to feel small. Very small.
Sometimes I just have to go somewhere.
Somewhere different. Somewhere I don’t usually go to. Or haven’t been to in a very long time.
Sometimes I just go until I am there. Wherever “there” is.
But I always know when I get “there.”
Sometimes it’s been a rock overlooking the Mississippi River. Sometimes a clover field. Sometimes a sandy beach along a lake shore. But no matter where “there” is, there’s something that happens in that special spot.
It takes me a few minutes to settle down, to tune into the sounds of nature and tune out the sounds of busyness—of mankind, machinery, and labor. Then the sounds of birds come in, riding the gentle breeze. Insect sounds. Leaves rustling. Running water.
And finally, I hear it. I hear God’s Voice, and then I’m okay again for a while.
