“Go Out and Be With God”
Sometimes, somedays, for weeks, months, I feel so very alone. People may surround me, even loved ones, but there is a burden I carry I cannot identify. I carry it alone, and in return, I feel alone.
The funny thing about this burden is that I don’t know what it is. I can’t identify it. I can shelve it for a while, but it always returns.
Have you ever felt this way?
It was early summer; I was seventeen and had just graduated high school. Out of the blue, I was invited to go with a Christian group, Young Life, I believe. Colorado was the destination, and they were leaving the next day for a week of fun. I was lukewarm about going, but the thought of getting away from my parents drove me to accept.
The Young Life group took off in a large bus with a large group of people I didn’t know, except for one other girl. I opted to make friends with the driver, and it was him I talked to for most of the trip. Even though this was over forty years ago, I still feel the heaviness inside when I think about those days. But something happened during that spontaneous Colorado trip. I cannot explain why; it doesn’t matter why. “It” happened, and my life was forever changed.
When we arrived in Colorado, I was overwhelmed with the beauty of the mountains and the sky. I felt so small.
The camp was full of kids from all over the nation. I was excited and a little scared. After the eighteen-hour drive, I still only knew that one girl. The cabins were small, with six bunk beds and one single bed for the cabin counselor. The grounds were hardened earth, with trees providing ample shade. I spent seven, maybe ten days at this camp, filled with talkative clusters of kids running from one activity to another. If it weren’t for planned group activities, I would have been again alone, surrounded by people. It wasn’t that I wasn’t spoken to or invited to engage; I couldn’t connect. Something held me back, kept me down and alone.
One night after dinner, we were all called to a place where guests spoke. I don’t recall what was said, except for one thing. At the end of the evening, the head pastor told us to “go out from this place, by ourselves, and be with God.” I remember looking up at the night sky and taking in the stars. The lack of lights in the open, mountainous country gave the stars their stage, and boy did they shine. I have never seen such a sight since that night. I headed out to find the perfect spot to be alone with God. I don’t know if I was too slow or too picky, but the “good” spots were gone, and I had to hurry up and find a place, or my time with God would be over! The only area I could find to be alone was between two cabins that had their lights left on. I still remember my feeling in that spot; left out, out of place, empty. The ground was that familiar hardened earth with no chance of “life” capable of breaking through, except for one small tree that grew between the cabins. It stretched up toward the night sky. I could almost feel its determination to live, grow, and reach out beyond the cabins that held it in.
I grasped my hand around the tree trunk, leaned in, and closed my eyes.
Nothing.
I don’t know why or how this seventeen-year-old came to this place in my heart or mind. But I gave up. Gave in? I surrendered and acknowledged the pain, anger, and hurt. I remember what I whispered.
“God, I am lost. I don’t know what to do, but I don’t want to live this way anymore. I don’t know how to fix my relationship with my parents. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I am sorry. I am sorry for how I have treated my parents. Please forgive me, help me, please take this from me. I don’t want to live this way anymore.”
At that very moment, God lifted that burden from me. I felt it. I still don’t know what that darkness was, but it kept me separated from the sweet fellowship with God, my Lord, and my heavenly Father.
That night is a treasure in my heart and will forever be the change that continued my walk with Jesus. Not often, but if I ever feel that separation, I immediately turn around and return to the One who is always waiting to love, walk, forgive, and guide me. He cannot be seen, but He sees me. He knows me. He knows you. He is waiting to be asked to carry the burden, the darkness that holds us from the life we are given to live.
