Party of One

I’ve never been popular or one of the “in” crowd.  In high school I knew that was because I wasn’t considered pretty by any stretch of the imagination, I wasn’t at all sports-minded, and I wasn’t a member of the right families. 

Now, I never really longed to be a part of the giggly, vacuous sorority crowd but I always hoped I’d fit in some day with at least part of humanity.  At first I thought I’d marry that knight in shining armor on a white stallion, but that didn’t pan out so no acceptance there.  And since I didn’t have any children, I didn’t gain any acceptance that way either.  It’s hard to say how many times I’ve tried to be part of a group, like a church choir, only to be rejected because we had very little, if anything, in common other than coming to church every Sunday. 

And then there’s the hideous idea that just because I try to support the preacher and his wife I must be after him.  Listen, girls, they are your husbands for a reason, and beyond talking to them about church matters, sermons, or Biblical ideas, you can keep them.  I neither want nor need “your man.” As if they’d have me anyway.  Really, it’s not as if I’m some sort of man magnet scooping up every man in my path.  Basically, I think men find me scary, so they’re not likely to run after me in the first place.

I’ve had my share of “friends,” mostly, I discovered, because there was something I could do for them – house sitting while they went on a wild vacation, fixing their computer equipment, teaching them how to use their iPod, or crocheting something for them to give to one of their real friends.  I seem to be more household help than anything else because they seem to feel they need to pay me.  When they had a need I could fill, I was their friend – beyond that, when I stopped being useful or was unable to provide services, I was disowned.

Over the years I’ve learned to accept my lot in life as a party of one.  I’ve tried going to church functions, like Christmas dinners for Sunday School classes, but I always end up sitting by myself at an otherwise empty table.  I’ve tried to engage choir members in conversation, but since I didn’t have a wallet full of baby pictures to whip out, I didn’t get very far. Even at work I’m separated.  My office is off by itself and away from the mainstream of my team. We don’t have much in common either, other than working together.  I’m a foreigner, in more ways than one.

It was brought home to me that nothing much has really changed when I attended a recent funeral.  A few people spoke to me – everyone else just sort of gave me that “who in the world is she” stare.  I didn’t go for them.  I went for the family of the person went to be with the Lord.  But as I stood in the parking lot waiting for the family to leave for the cemetery it struck me how separate I am.  I think I know better than most how lonely Jesus felt in the Garden of Gethsemane. 

Truly, some of this is my fault.  I hesitate to become involved because I fear rejection.  After all, I’ve seen it over and over and over again.  Then there’s the fear of having my intentions misunderstood. I don’t want to get in anyone’s way, or cause any kind of strife in the lives of others.  To that end I avoid parties, dinners, and the like so no one will have to worry what I’m up to.  I remember one time being seen by a church member talking to a lady about purple scarves and being perceived as trying to start trouble in the church.  I never did figure out how that perception was arrived at but I left the church nevertheless after a few Sundays of whisperings.

I’ve learned to have a thick skin when it comes to gatherings.  I know I’ll be sitting alone.  I know that I’ll have to be careful how I shake hands with men during church service.  I know groups of women will never truly accept me because I’m single and childless.  I’ve learned that being more of a ghost who comes in and goes out pretty much without anyone noticing is okay – God knows I was there. 

In some ways I wonder what’s wrong with me.  I know I don’t fit into your social patterns, but am I really such a bad person that you don’t want me for your friend?  Have I not done enough to be your friend?  Maybe it’s all based on how much I do for you and not on whether you want to come together as fellow Christians to support each other.  Maybe I’m silly to think that it would be great to discuss Bible studies, sermon understandings, and ideas on how to walk in a world that basically despises and discounts Christians.

Maybe the problem is I’m not always a good caretaker either.  I forget to send cards for special occasions and to cheer people up in case they might be blue. I’m horrible at calling just to check in, mostly because I work in a support call center.  I’m not all that excited to spend hours on the phone.  Because I’m not a depressed person myself, I have a hard time listening to those who climb into bed for months at a time because they’re too depressed to face the world. I’ve had days where I should have sunk into the pits of gloom and doom, but with Jesus there I just can’t seem to manage it, at least not for long.

I’m not very good at setting up adventures and planning fun trips. I don’t like sports all that much and eating out is about a once-a-month kind of thing for my budget.  I think reading a good novel is a fun trip but I’m sure that’s not what others would expect.  No one in their right mind would want someone who does burnt offerings to host a progressive dinner. During tax season, when I’m working ten to fourteen-hour days six days a week, I feel fortunate to remember my own name at the end of the day, so I’m sure I miss friend opportunities too.

At any rate, standing there in that parking lot, alone in spite of the number of people around me, I thought again about how Jesus was despised and rejected by men and women in his own culture yet he still went to the Cross for them, gave his life’s blood for their salvation.  It isn’t about me or whether I’m accepted on this earth or not.  It’s all about the blood of Christ and what he gave to make me one of his own. 

In the end I’m never walking alone here on earth, it only appears so from time to time.  Christ is always there with me, even if he at times seems to be a silent partner whom I can neither see, nor feel, nor hear.  Silence doesn’t mean he’s not there.  Silence sometimes just means he’s bearing my sorrows and lifting me up by the blood he gave for me.  In God’s economy alone is what you often have to be in order to walk more closely with him.