I am not alone.
It may be a little hard to believe that someone like me ever feels alone. After all, I tend to be pretty upbeat (except when I’m tired and stressed) and I’m surrounded by the best family and friends a human could ask for. But an odd fish surrounded by other really cool fish, even really cool fish who love the odd fish, is still an odd fish.
Often I’m tempted to think that my struggles are unique. I tell myself I’m the only one who feels such and such a way to such and such an extreme. No one else has felt the pain I’ve felt in the way I’ve felt it. I can’t talk to anyone about, because how could anyone possibly understand?
It’s simply not true. Different kinds of pain can feel equally intense. Different struggles resonate the same way. Others may not know exactly what I’m going through, but they’ve probably faced something similar. Or something worse.
How do I know this? I put my worries on the blog (a select few, mind you, compared to everything that rattles around in my head), and people comment. “I know how you feel.” “Been there, too.” “Thanks for that—it’s good to know I’m not alone.” “Hang in there. I got through and so will you.”
Still, there are moments when I cannot find anyone else. No one who empathizes. Plenty of people care and care a lot about me, but that does not mean they can understand my dark places completely.
And in those moments—and all other moments—God knows. He knows better than I do. He’s walked that way before, in and out of the dark places. He comes and scatters light into mine. He is the Day in my night, and under His wings I am never, ever alone.