If everything had gone according to schedule, my airplane would have been
landing in Phoenix about then. That same schedule called for me to be sleeping
in my own bed in the Mountain Standard Time zone that night. It was a good plan—a
great plan—until it fell apart; ground right down to nothing just like
the starter on the first airplane I had boarded. It was one of those prop jobs
used for short hops. The sound went from a grind to a groan, then nothing but
smoke. A couple of people onboard lost their cool because of their foiled plans.
I figured it was inconvenient as well, but it sure beat crashing. Chances for
making our connections evaporated when they couldn’t find a crew to fly
in a backup plane. That was over four hours ago. So I was grounded, just south
of nowhere, holed up in a cheap motel at the end of a runway.
It was about 11:30pm when I was able get my stuff into my room. I hadn’t
eaten since that morning and knew that in spite of my fatigue, I needed food.
I slipped next door to the family restaurant. It was one of those generous eateries
that had entrées for under eight bucks, served in farm portions.
"Table for one." I’d said it so many times before in my life.
But this night, tired, hungry, and stuck, it sounded more foreboding than normal.
I was surprised at how many people were still being served at that late hour.
It had started to snow about two hours before, and I could see from my seat next
to the window that it was beginning to accumulate. In spite of the changed plans,
I was grateful to have a safe, warm place to sleep and something to eat.
Eating alone, sleeping alone, waking up alone, and slipping quietly through
the day alone were actually a big part of my life. I’d been handed my first
boarding pass over two decades earlier. Thousands of stops, and hundreds of thousands
of great people later, I was still asking for a table for one. But I had accepted
it as part of the trade, one of the occupational hazards of being a circuit-rider
preacher. For the most part, it wasn’t so bad. Sometimes I’d bring
along a good book or get a table close enough to a television to peek at a ball
game or the headlines. Sometimes I’d get a friendly waiter or waitress
who knew how to knock the edge off of isolation. But this night, it was just
me, a mismatched place setting, and a truck driver’s menu.
Fatigue plays games with your mind. I was at that stage of exhaustion when
you start to get a headache, but knew if I could just stay awake through dinner,
I could be in a sleeper’s coma soon enough. My waitress turned out to be
all business and mediocre service. With no one to talk to, nothing to read, and
sitting too far from the bar to watch the hockey game, I had no choice but to
sit there, holding my eyes open, waiting for my turn to be fed. It put me in
a mood to muse.
I do it a lot. Musing is when you let your mind wander, but you pay attention
along the way. If you do it right, and mix in a large dose of objectivity while
assessing your thoughts, you can learn a lot about yourself. You might even move
beyond the moment a better person. The big enemy to this process is fatigue.
It’s hard to be objective when you’re tired. I was so tired I thought
I’d fall asleep sitting up. But the back mask of deep-fried-cheap-food
and the people smoking at tables on either side of me kept me from dozing off.
What I found myself thinking about was the difference between being alone,
and being lonely. I was the former, but I couldn’t recall the last time
I felt like the latter. No one back home knew I was stranded two time zones away.
Their plans for that evening, and the time zone differences had not allowed me
to connect with them to let them know I’d been delayed. But nothing about
my situation made me feel lonely. I didn’t know anyone, but I didn’t
feel a huge yearning to have to talk to anyone. It made me wonder, Why? Why is
it that I spend a lot of time alone, but I don’t feel lonely? Why is it
that I find myself surrounded by so many lonely people but I never feel like
one of them? The answers I came up with gave me a deeper appreciation for the
blessings in my life and a deeper longing to be a bridge to all those people
around me who couldn’t claim the same joy.
Lonely people are the one’s who don’t have anyone waiting for
them, worrying about them, or praying for them. They’re the disconnected,
disenfranchised host of humanity who have no one to love, and no one loving them.
You’d think their numbers would be small, but unfortunately, there are
a lot of folks who make up their ranks. Sometimes they’re sitting at a
table for six, waking up next to someone they once gave a ring to, and posing
each year for a new family portrait. They work on a team, keep up their dues
at the club, and show up on time for the next social. But they’re unattached
at the heart and in constant search of a soul mate. They’re busy people
without a purpose, ever increasing their bottom line, but lacking the relationships
that make their efforts meaningful.
I couldn’t take rank with them because I had the things that never let
a person feel they’re on their own. At that moment, I realized that I had
a Savior, I had a wife, I had children, I had a church, I had friends, and all
of these connections gave my daily efforts a ton of meaning. I never felt lonely
because I always had someone on my mind—people who either made my life
more significant, or people who gave me something for which to live.
I realized that I wasn’t blessed because I’m good or somehow more
valuable. I was no better or more entitled than anyone else in the room. I realized
that I wasn’t connected because I was smarter or had made better choices
than anyone else in the room. At best I’m average, and I’ve made
more than my share of bad choices.
Alone, but not lonely; isolated but still connected. Why me? It wasn’t
because I reached out to others, but because Someone first reached out to me.
It's not because I’m so loveable, but because Someone loved me in spite
of myself. It’s not because I’m some great husband, but because I
have a good wife. It’s not because I’m a faithful dad, but because
God’s grace is given to me through my kid’s patience with me.
All this musing drove me to some conclusions. Most lonely people don’t
find themselves in their predicament because they don’t want anyone in
their lives, but because nobody wants them in theirs. They miss finding a purpose
for their lives because somehow they either overlooked or haven’t heard
the good news from Calvary. They haven’t realized their worth, so they
feel inadequate when it comes to being an asset to others. So when we see all
the lonely people, and ask the question, "Where do they all come from?" the
answer is in the mirror. They’re just waiting for a 'you' or a 'me' to
bridge the gap with the love we found at the foot of the cross. And I felt I
could practice right then, at that moment, by knocking some of the isolation
off my 'all-business-mediocre-service' waitress with a friendly smile and some
gracious words. Actually it was easy. I was encouraged by all the people sitting
with me at my table for one—my Savior, my wife, my kids, and my friends.
