Alone is possibly the scariest word I know.

I read something yesterday that met me in a place I’ve been looking for, and I want to share it. Because I think Tim Keller says it better than I’ve ever seen it summarized. These few lines summarize the human condition of hide and seek. Lost and found. Fear and love. Real love.

The christmas lights walking around the city are what kept me happy and going on this fateful night. I’ll never forget how bright and colorful some of them were, with all sorts of shades of blue, green, red covering the sky. some of them were marked as commercial christmas lights by PHS Greenleaf which I figured must have been the name of the company that manufactured them.

In his book, “The Meaning of Marriage,” Tim writes, “To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God. It is what we need more than anything.” 

I think he’s onto something. Something huge. Because when we lose things, it hurts. And we feel lost to some extent too. Because we are often attached to what we’ve lost, the item so close to us emotionally, it’s like we’ve lost a part of ourselves. That’s why it hurts the most when we lose a loved one to divorce or death. They really are so much a part of who we are, and we’re made for each other. The pain of loss, as awful as it is, makes sense.

Can you imagine if there existed that one thing that can find you and can never be lost? That one thing Tim talks about. “To be fully known and truly loved… Being loved by God.” I found this love the night Jesus found me. Twenty-one years ago as I lay on my back in my dorm room at Northwestern. I was a college freshman, and it was the night of my birthday after a really fun evening with my friends in the city.

Only hours earlier, the sky was a watercolor painting of hot pink streaks on this perfectly cool April night. We took the El to downtown Chicago for a some food and festivities. My friends and I fumbled over some delicious Chinese food with our chopsticks. Besides my roomie who knew how to handle eating rice without a spoon. And I still remember snagging my panty hose (do they still call them that?) under my brown mini-skirt on the railing at the train stop. But the run in my tights just gave me an opportunity to make my friends laugh. Next thing I knew I took my fingernail and ripped into the other leg to even out my holes. And why stop at one per leg. The next thing I knew I tore a bunch of runs into my skin-toned stockings that no longer served to cover up my legs. Much, anyway. We laughed the whole way there and back, because I continued to do crazy things like skip and twirl in the streets and whatever antics I could come up with to announce to the world, “Today is my birthday! And I am gonna make it a happy one, gosh darn it!”

But, a silent storm inside me brewed that no one knew about. I was a volcano of self-hatred and disappointment that I had never shared with anyone. As beautiful as I appeared on the outside, my insides were the kind of dark that only perhaps the joker on Batman could relate too. And no matter how loud the voices inside me cried, I just ignored them and laughed louder, hoping to drown them out. But when the night was over, all my friends back in their dorms, I was alone. In the silence. With my heart aches. Alone.

And as I lay on my back that night, I felt more aware than ever that I had nowhere to go that I wouldn’t somehow end up back in this place. Alone with me. And afraid of what I saw. And knew. I didn’t even like me.

So that night, I did what I always refer to as my own little personal experiment. I talked to a stranger, who I read about and heard a lot about, but had never really met in person.

I talked to God. For the first time.

I can’t remember exactly how I said it, but I know my conversation was very simple. I kept it short. I wasn’t sure if I was really talking to someone or just air, so I had no plans to invest too much time, you know. It was well past midnight when I silently said my first words to Jesus.

“Hi. God? And I hear you’re the one. I also read that you tell the truth. And if it’s true what you said, I hear you died for me. For the mess I’ve made of me. Well, the truth is, I just need one. One reliable friend. One person I can be real with. One person who knows me and loves me anyway. I hear you can be that person. So here I am. I’m willing to give you a chance. That’s about it. Good night… and Oh. Um. Amen, I guess.”

That was it. Nothing fancy. Didn’t get on my knees. Didn’t say any, ‘Hail Mary’s’ or throw my hands in the air or cross my heart. Almost did a cartwheel. Not really, but…

My life changed. That night. If the words I spoke to the creator of the world were steps, I crossed an invisible line that night. And if I heard a whisper of a response somewhere deep within me in that place where you just know it’s not you talking to yourself, I heard four words that I dismissed. At first. They were, “There’s no turning back.”

I almost laughed aloud, actually. This was an experiment after all. That no one knew about. I could go back to being confused-chaotic me whenever I felt like it. I didn’t have to do this faith thing. I was just taste-testing after all. If this thing didn’t work for me, I had every plan and purpose to turn around and just go back to same old, same old. It wasn’t that bad of a place after all. I had friends. I had laughter. I had… nothing.

Because in the end, the one thing I needed was the one thing I didn’t have. Until that night. Until I took a chance. And let love come in. And for the rest of my days, for as many things as I lose a fight, for all the days I mess up, and the moments I forget my name, I thank God that he never forgets.