Never Alone
"...I know in whom I have trusted."
(2 Nephi 4:19)
My entire life I've been almost entirely surrounded by others.
With 7 kids (who act more like a pack of puppies than not on any given day) none
of us were ever truly alone. At 19 I left on a mission for my church where I
was always with another missionary...the only time I slept in a room by myself
was my last night before I went home. Then I was back
home, and my 19-month-old baby sister was always among the
first of my siblings to pop into the guestroom as soon as the sun would start
to shine.
In college I had roommates, and whenever I visited home though I often had a room to myself, there was almost always someone there with me. Someone coming to just sit on the bed. Someone coming to talk about their day. Someone, there was always someone.
It wasn't until shortly after graduating that I got my own apartment and truly lived on my own. I remember that first night in the apartment. My family had left, and I was left in a unique situation of being the one left behind. Up till this point I’d always been the one doing the abandoning. Leaving there was always an adventure to jump into to soften the pain of separation...but being left? Watching them leave?
Sitting on the couch in my beautiful apartment with its vaulted ceilings, two bedrooms, and large windows, I suddenly became aware of how big it was, and how empty it was with just me in it. It was a new experience for me, and as I listened to the voices of my family bounce down the stairs into the night, I could feel my heart cracking.
I remember texting my parents that night. I'm not sure exactly what I said - if I was entirely honest about how I was feeling, or just vaguely hinted at my sadness, but regardless I will never forget what my Dad said in response. "Remember, with Jesus, you are never alone. He and Heavenly Father are always with you."
Now I’m here.
Please understand, I’m generally not a lonely person. Years of reading in corners has prepared me well for long moments of stillness, and after a full day of playing with kids and helping to manage them and their antics, I’m generally all too ready to come home and curl into a happy, gooey, pile of exhaustion on my bed.
But there still come those moments where Youtube can’t distract me, and I feel the gnawing grip of loneliness pull at my heart. I’m lucky in that this is rare. I have friends from home that I speak to almost daily, good friends that I’m making here, a church family, a good place to work, and adorable kids that I get to love.
But there are still those moments where I am faced with a deep feeling of emptiness. Where I feel that I’m truly alone. It is in these moments where that reminder from my Dad often will echo through my heart: "Remember, with Jesus, you are never alone. He and Heavenly Father are always with you.".
Sometimes this helps me feel better. If I’ve been doing a good job of staying current with my prayers and scripture study, this is a reminder that rarely needs to be given. But weeks where I haven’t been as attentive, this reminder comes a little harder. I’m more prone to be stubborn about asking for help, about seeking for reassurance and comfort. These little gaps in communication also generally result in more frequent periods of loneliness. It cycles on until I find myself acknowledging again that I’m still not able to do this crazy adventure on my own, and that really I don’t want to be doing it on my own.
Anyone who has sat down and listened to the full story of how I got to Korea knows that this has been a deeply spiritual experience for me. To say it wasn’t would be a lie. I wouldn’t have made it on to the plane if I hadn’t had the deep and set assurance that for whatever reason, I NEEDED TO GO. It pounded in my heart, ran through my mind, my usual excuses and self-doubts pummeled into an unfamiliar place at the backseat by the force of this driving pulse.
I knew when I left that there would be two possible outcomes from this adventure: I’d either come out stronger in my relationship with my God, or be at risk of losing it all together. That thought terrified me, but I knew that if this was what I supposed to do, then this was the best path for me to take. I knew who I was trusting.
So somedays I sit in my apartment and I feel alone, isolated by my own stubbornness and dislike for seeking assistance. But somedays, I know there’s someone else there. I’ve started doing Family Home Evenings* on Monday nights at my apartment. It’s just me. But I’m not alone. I sing the hymns, say both prayers, and prepare a short spiritual message. But I don’t feel like I’m the only person there.
Some might say it’s strange, and perhaps it looks a little strange looking from the outside in. But all I can say is that I’m not alone in those moments. Perhaps some might ask me for discernable proof of what I experience. Words are what I have to describe it, my life a way to show it, but I don’t feel that anything I do can do it justice. So when my friends ask, it’s almost a shrug of the shoulders. I just know that I know I’m not alone.
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