About Caroline Coleman

Caroline Coleman is a speaker, writer and lawyer. She is the author of LOVING SOREN (B&H 2005)

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

Loneliness. Anxiety. Grief.

And did I mention loneliness?

So many people are suffering. Even those who feel blessed with health, family and work have heavy hearts on behalf of others. We know that so many have lost loved ones, jobs, community, peace and joy.

For a Christian, living through a pandemic is of a piece with all of life. We are always in God’s hands, in sickness and in health. God loves us. He has a good plan for us. And He brings good out of bad. We know this.

But sometimes it can still feel hard to lay hold of the goodness that is always ours in Christ.

So how can we move from loneliness to joy? How can we feel part of a community even when isolated?

[Rd. 1 Thess. 1.]Today’s reading provides the keys to unlock the answers to our hearts’ deepest desires. Paul, Silas and Timothy open the letter with a seemingly simple greeting: grace and peace to you. And yet, even as we read those words, something opens up within us. Because the human heart is an idol factory. We are masters at manufacturing complicated maps of what we think we need. But grace and peace, we realize, are what we actually need.

The authors of the letter go on to say that they are “always” thanking God for the Thessalonians and “continually” mentioning them in prayer. They call the Thessalonian church their “brothers and sisters.” And here, we realize, is our community. It’s one that is always there for us. It’s only a prayer away. And better still, it’s continually available to us if we choose to continually pray.

The Bible teaches us that Christians are one family. We are one body. We are one. We share the blood of Christ. We share in each others’ sorrows–and also joys. Thus, in praying for others “always” and “continually,” we can be connected to people always and continually. We can have community in a very real, tangible and divine way–even when we’re alone and perhaps especially when we’re alone.

I discovered this when first divorced. Living apart from my X meant that I had to be physically separated from my young children at times. It felt unnatural and wrong. I had an image in my head of what motherhood looked like, and it wasn’t this. But I discovered then that although I couldn’t see my children all the time, I could pray for them all the time. So every time that I missed them, I would walk around the reservoir in Central Park and pray for them with all the passion I had. I discovered through my loss a connection so powerful that it surprised me. It also strengthened them in a way I could never have done by myself even if physically present.

God invites us into this powerful intimacy and privilege–the community of praying for others–all the time. But as for me in the example above, it can sometimes take deprivation to realize this invitation. We can use our loneliness as a helpful reminder to lift up in prayer family, friends, our leaders, those in prison, the sick, the dying, the grieving–anyone and everyone. In doing so, we are united with them, all of them. Praying for others is an honor that fulfills us. We are made for this type of deep community: the fellowship of prayer.

In addition to offering grace and peace and community, the letter also reminds us that joy is ours for the asking. The authors praise the Thessalonians for welcoming the message of the gospel of love “in the midst of severe suffering with the joy given by the Holy Spirit.” In reading those words, we again feel our hearts strengthened. The Holy Spirit brings a supernatural joy irrespective of our circumstances. God made the human heart with the capacity to both grieve and also feel joy at the same time. We are made in God’s image. He, too, grieves over us and with us and also loves us with a deep joy.

And when we find that hard to believe, we can look to Jesus suffering for us on the cross. He died to give us eternal life. By His wounds we are healed. He lived the perfect life we never could and enabled us to have perfect intimacy with a holy God by paying the price for our sins.

So no matter how sad or lonely we feel, we can remember that we have intimacy with God. He alone satisfies our hearts deepest desires. If we remember that God is holding us by the right hand, we can take comfort. If we cling to the hope that one day God will wipe away every tear, we can believe that we are not grieving in vain. If we remind ourselves that all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to His purpose, then we take heart. And if we feel overwhelmed and listless, we can remember Jesus already did the work. Ours is only to want and need–and ask.

It’s all too easy to forget the truth of God’s love, especially when life doesn’t look the way we expected. But if we pray for others, we can have community instead of loneliness. If we ask for a fresh indwelling of the Holy Spirit we can have supernatural joy in the midst of suffering. And if we trust God despite our circumstances, the message of love will ring out from us like bells.

Grace and peace will be ours, all over again. Instead of wandering lonely as a cloud, we will be able to live lives of purpose and beauty, even if alone. Amen.

Getting Unstuck

[Rd. Col. 4] Today I woke up at 6:30 and thought, hooray, it’s Monday and I’m going to leap out of bed and get SO much done. But for some reason, instead of writing the next chapter in the novel I’m working on, I drank coffee and wandered down research rabbit holes on 23 and Me. It was super fun. I was trying to figure out which DNA relatives in the family tree were descended from which relatives.

It wasn’t that fun.

I knew they were rabbit holes. But instead of doing what I actually wanted to do–and needed to do–and think I enjoy doing–I kept diving headfirst down one useless rabbit hole after another. I was stuck.

By 11:30, I decided that I absolutely had to return the vacuum robot I’d bought online last week, riding that Quarantine wave. I’d been so excited about this vacuum. It’s a hybrid. It’s supposed to clean AND mop. However, when it arrived, I discovered to my chagrin that its promised Wifi capabilities are not compatible with 5G. Countless attempts to hook it up (time that I could have spent vacuuming) ended in bitter defeat.

So today I organized returning it (okay, fine: I confess. I bought it from Amazon. Yes, I’m that person, the one who is contributing to Amazon taking over the world). In order to put it back in its box so FedEx could pick it up, I pressed a button.

It sprang to life. “Cleaning,” it said. Startled, and extremely pleased, I stepped back. I watched, mesmerized, as it darted under the dining room table and wove its way around the chair legs. Wow, I thought. I don’t even vacuum under there.

I couldn’t stop watching it. Far from freeing me up, I found myself stuck all over again.

I watched as it bumped into chair legs, wheeled around, tried another way, bumped, pivoted, advanced, got stuck. That robot seemed determined to stay under the table. I lifted it up–while it spun its little legs like a crab and its dead-sounding computer voice complained about the indignity of my treatment–and put it down near some dirt by an ottoman. It went right back under the table and wove between the chair legs again.

I kept watching it. Oh no, I thought. I’m stuck again. Ironically, this time I was stuck watching a little robot vacuum get stuck. It was very meta. I felt like a failure. But the way it moved was so fascinating. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I look away?

And then I remembered something my husband had said on our twenty minute WFH walk when I told him about my 23andMe stuckness. “Someone wise once told me,” [me, me, me!], “that when you’re a writer, dreaming is not a waste of time.”

Okay, I thought. Maybe this isn’t a total waste of time. Maybe I’m not the world’s biggest failure. So how can I use this moment? And then I realized that what the robo vacuum was doing was exactly how we usually try to solve our problems. We go over and over the issues. We bump into obstacles, wheel around, try a different direction, encounter another chair leg and pivot.

It’s fine for vacuuming. But for the Big Problems of Life? It’s frustrating and too often leads to nothing but dead ends and defeat. We feel like our wheels are spinning and we’re going nowhere. And a mechanical, dead voice inside of us is saying, this is not working. And it’s because there’s a problem inside of you.

I remembered then that there was a better way. Instead of rabbit holes and robot-vacuum maneuvers, I could ask for God’s help. I wish I could say that prayer was my first line of attack every time I get stuck. But it’s not: obviously. Instead, I somehow fall back into remembering as if for the first time the more excellent way each day–all over again. I hope you’re more resourceful than I am–and more humble. I think pride is the problem. Pride can’t ask for help.

But who wants to be like a robot vacuum? As Paul puts it in today’s letter to the Colossians, we’re supposed to “devote” ourselves to prayer, being “watchful and thankful”. No wonder Paul says to be watchful. It’s all too easy to get stuck in a dry prayerless condition.

And once we pray for God to open a door–He flings it wide open. Instead of focusing on our procrastination techniques, God changes our hearts. We discover that we are looking not at our To Do list to define our sense of worth but instead are thankful for His love. We remember our worth comes from God loving us so much He sent His son to die for us: or, as Paul puts it in today’s reading, we become thankful, all over again, for the “mystery of Christ.” It is a mystery. It’s a divine supernatural mystery and a whole different way of living.

And right there, in the moment of realizing we’re going at it all wrong–we are transformed. We find ourselves asking not how we can feel good about ourselves but what we can do for others. How, God, we ask, can our conversation “be always full of grace, seasoned with salt”? Help us, we ask… and we find that our day has begun in earnest: even more effortlessly than that robot vacuum cleaned up a few dry leaves. He makes us sparkling new–every day. And somehow everything becomes more seamless.

Did I write that chapter? No, but I worked on it. I found it was stuck, too. There was a reason for my procrastination. Because once we’re thankful and watchful and praying, we discover that God is kind… far more kind that we can even imagine.