You’ve heard it, I’m sure. Whispered in the dark of night or under the bright light of day or into the desperate places of your heart.
I’ve heard it in crowds of people and locked in my bedroom with the curtains pulled tightly shut.
I’ve felt it in the deepest places of my pain and seen it echoed through my sorrows.
Sometimes it slips in quiet and makes itself comfortable on the edge of my mind. Other times it is so loud I cringe as it reverberates through my life.
But I hear it. Over and over.
It sounds like me talking but it’s really him. The Enemy of my soul.
“I’m all alone.”
Sometimes other things link to it. I’m all alone in my pain. I’m all alone in my hurt. I’m all alone in my life. I’m all alone with no job. I’m all alone with no friends. I’m all alone in my marriage. I’m all alone in ___________. God left me all alone.
And here is the reason the Enemy loves this lie:
If you believe you’re all alone, no one can empathize with you.
If you believe you’re all alone, then no one is there to help you pick up the broken pieces of your life.
If you believe you’re all alone, no one can call you to account for your sin because “they don’t understand your pain”.
And if you believe you’re all alone, dear friends, no one can give you grace.
I know a beautiful woman who faced a horrendous tragedy. The birth of a stillborn son.
It was heart-shattering.
Week after week she sat in my Sunday School class saying, “I don’t want to be here but I am.” And week after week she had to fight the lie with every possible weapon. She had to choose to say, “I’m not all alone” even when it felt like she was.
The day came when she whispered, “I know I should be over this by now…” and because she was there and fought the lie, even when it felt like truth—she sat in a room full of women who “didn’t know” and grace poured over her.
“You just buried a baby,” someone whispered in return, “I don’t think you need to ‘get over it’.”
We hurt with her and cried with her and tasted grace together.
When she was pregnant again, my heart filled and my prayers deepened. And when she told the story of her son crying as he was born and nothing sounding so beautiful—of the doctor and nurses and her husband all crying and how she couldn’t because all she could think was that he was alive! everything in me danced.
And this girl who has never buried a baby and that girl who has never faced infertility—together we’re not alone.
When I reach out from my pain to offer her comfort in hers—and when she looks up from hers to comfort me—
Satan’s lies are buried in an avalanche of truth.
And none of us are really alone.
One of God’s greatest gifts to his children is community.
What have you done lately to foster community?
linking up with Life-Unmasked and Women Living Well