Elisabeth Elliot - Finding Your Way through Loneliness

1988, 2001 by Elisabeth Elliot

Published by Revell

a division of Baker Publishing Group

P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

www.revellbooks.com

Spire edition published 2011

Previously published in 2007 as The Path of Loneliness

Ebook edition created 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4934-3457-2

Scripture marked NASB is taken from the New American Standard Bible. Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

Scripture marked NEB is taken from The New English Bible . Copyright 1961, 1970, 1989 by The Delegates of Oxford University Press and The Syndics of the Cambridge University Press. Reprinted by permission.

Scripture marked NIV is taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version. NIV. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

Scripture marked NKJV is taken from the New King James Version. Copyright 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture marked Phillips is taken from the New Testament in Modern English, revised editionJ. B. Phillips, translator. J. B. Phillips 1958, 1960, 1972. Used by permission of Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc.

Scripture marked RSV is taken from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright 1952 [2nd edition, 1971] by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture marked KJV is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

To the memory of Katherine Morgan

Blessed are [those] whose strength is in thee,
in whose heart are the highways to Zion.
As they go through the valley of Baca
they make it a place of springs....
They go from strength to strength.
Psalm 84:57 RSV

Contents

Preface to the Second Edition

Readers will note that this book was originally published in 1988. Some of its contents may seem a bit dated. Nevertheless I believe that the topic of loneliness is of perennial interest to all of us at every season of our lives.

It is my earnest prayer that those who tread this path may find the companionship of One who calls Himself the God of peace. May you also discover what the apostle Paul learned while he was in prison: I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength (Phil. 4:1213 NIV).

Elisabeth Elliot, 2001

Acknowledgments

My sincere thanks are due to those who gave permission to use their stories.

The Sudden Tide

It is midnight. Off the right wing of the plane the moon floods with light a vast field of clouds, like cobblestones. Inside the plane it is dark except for a few dim lights and the exit signs. The stewardess moves quietly up the aisle, taking a blanket to someone. The man and woman next to me are apparently asleep. They have been quiet for a long time. I try to fit my legs into the cramped space allotted, but they are too long. The seat is too narrow. The pillow is too small to cradle my head comfortably against the bulkhead. In spite of the deep thrum of the engines, smooth and regular, I cant sleep.

The woman beside me moves, opens her purse, finds something, leans back again. The man stirs. Neither says anything. There is a tiny click, then a clear flame, as the man reaches to light his companions cigarette. I can see the outline of his hand, the knuckles and fingers, the hairs illuminated for a few seconds. The woman draws, puffs a thin column of smoke. Another click. Darkness.

Only the most ordinary of gestures, meaning almost nothing, I suppose, to them. But for me, sitting there by the window looking out again at the cold stars, it speaks of a whole world that is lost to me now. A man and a woman. Together. His hand stretched toward her to help.

I am traveling alone. I am a widow. I remember another handa bit bigger than the one, with fingers strong for wrestling and carpentry, dexterous for drawing, tender for caressing. I can still see the square fingernails, and how the hair grew on the back of that hand. The man it belonged to has been gone for more than a year, long enough for me to have difficulty remembering how it felt when he touched me, how it was to put my hand inside his.

I lean my forehead against the glass and a great heaving tide pours over me, drowns meas it has done a hundred times in the past year. But there are so many so much worse off than I. I remember that. How blessed I have been, to have been a wife even for a short time. Yet, in the most unpremeditated ways, in the oddest places and for the most absurd reasons, as Im going about my business, generally calm, ever cheerful, that sudden tide sweeps in. Its called loneliness.

Fifteen years later I am a widow again. Most of my tears were shed before he died, as I watched cancer take him to pieces. The funeral is a celebration of joyhe is at peace, free at last from what he called his vile body. We sing Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah, the hymn which has (except in the newer mutilated versions) that wonderful line,

Death of Death and Hells Destruction,

Land me safe on Canaans side.

I do not feel at all like cryingexcept for joy at the thought of Christs being the Death of Death. I did not cry at the memorial service for my first husband. It seemed very strange to onlookers, Im sureShe must be made of concrete!but I am not the only one who has experienced this. It often happens that those whose loss is greatest receive the greatest share of grace, mercy, and peace. This does not mean that they never cry, of course. But they do not collapse. Those who only watch and pray and try to put themselves in the place of the bereaved find it almost unendurable. Sometimes they weep uncontrollably, for their imaginations never include the grace.

So it happens for me at the funeral. The peace given simply passes understanding, and I am borne up by those intense prayers, as if on strong wings, far above grief.

But suddenly, one day as I am pulling something from the shelf in the supermarket, the tide sweeps in and I find myself sobbing. Happily no one seems to notice. If someone should, would my explanation (My husband died three months ago) make sense to him here , in the supermarket ?

In order to get to the hotel dining room, we have to walk past the disco bar. The noise is too loud to tell whether its music or what. The smoke is too thick to see whos up there making the noise, but in the twirling mirrored lights we can see the writhing shapes on the dance floor. Male or female? I cant always tell by their dress. Theyre not touching. Their hands are moving back and forth in the air in front of them, their bodies gyrating, shaking, grinding. Occasionally one bumps a shoulder to remind another that he/she has a partner. A knot of men stands near the door. Four women sit sideways on bar stools, legs generously displayed, elbows on the bar, hands drooping over the rims of glasses, eyes ceaselessly scanning the room. There is loneliness in their eyes, the acute loneliness one senses, seeking one soul who might be an answerer.

Its Saturday night. Its where the singles come in this cow-town west of the Mississippi.

We (a third husband and I) pause, watch the scene for a minute, go on by. We sit in the dining room, thankful for quiet, thankful that we need not join the lonely crowd. We have each other, and its for life (a longer one this time, please God).