In the Shelter of Each Other the People Live

It's good to remember that souls are unique--that you are unique, that I am unique. It is good to remember that your soul has a uniquely shaped void that only God can fill. It is good to remember that in eternity, you will have your own unique name engraved on a white stone that only you and God will know; in essence, there will be a part of God that only you know about, and you can glorify God in a way no one else can because there's this unique relationship between you.

Uniqueness is good and I am so thankful for it.

But sometimes I take uniqueness too far. Though my soul is unique, though my fingerprints are unique, and though I form unique bonds with my friends, my experience as a Christian on this earth is not unique. And that is important to remember for several reasons.

First, it gets you out of yourself. I tend to think that no one else struggles with sanctification like I do. No one knows the burning, ripped apart feeling of sin I've experienced. No one understands my desperate drive to be holy while trapped in human skin. No one yearns for heaven like me. No one gets their emotions and will mixed up like I do. No one tries to unravel the problem of suffering like I do. No one experiences those days of numbness, where I can't feel anything, can't think of anything, can't get Truth to penetrate my soul. No one sits in their bedroom in the dark in the middle of the night and cries out for God's presence, for fulfillment, like I do. No one else has felt that "anxiety that gnaws like fire and loneliness that spreads out like the desert" (cs lewis). No one else feels like everything is meaningless. No one else wants to charge life with purpose. No one else is lost, not knowing what to do with their life. No one else wishes for a map to be etched on their heart. No one else questions if everything I have done so far is vanity.    

Ha. Ha. As if I am that unique. No thoughts are more selfish, more conceited, more arrogant. Because I'm pretty sure as you read that above paragraph, you put check marks next to every statement. Jumped up and down and raised your hand saying, "Oo oo! Pick me, pick me! I've experienced that before! I can tell you what that's like!" And yet we (or at least I, but I'm thinking it's safe to generalize at this point, per the post), act like we are the prototype of pain and depression and unanswered questions. It's like I look up in the dictionary, "pain: that which Mattea felt last Wednesday November the second." Or, "questioning: the perpetual state of Mattea's mind." We think our circumstances, our experiences, are so special, and no one else can relate to them.

So not true.  

Thus, the second reason it's good to remember you aren't all that unique is because it combats loneliness. Once you realize that practically every single one of your friends has felt (or are feeling) and experienced (or are experiencing) what you are, it's really quite relieving. It's nice to know that this world is bigger than you. It helps you understand God's omnipresence. Mostly though, you realize you aren't alone. Which means that recognizing you aren't unique solves a problem that has always been a problem that God has had to continually fix (follow me?). Even before sin, Adam felt alone. He had God, had a place to live, had lots of adoring pets and yummy food...but something was missing. "It is not good for man to be alone..." Enter Eve stage left. Woo hoo! Completeness. No more loneliness. Then the fall happened, and since then God has been restoring us to His side with various covenants so that we will never be alone again.

Third (sheesh this is sounding like an essay), it follows that you will be more compassionate. Once you recognize other people are feeling what you are feeling, you will be able to empathize and comfort. You will be able to serve. (See, wonderful things happen when you get out of yourself!).

Last point. Unfortunately, this one doesn't always happen. But recognizing we aren't unique, getting out of ourselves, should mean that there will be a grand deconstruction of all the stupid, protective walls we've built up. A redrawing of the boundary lines. It should mean that we aren't afraid to ask for help, ask for prayer, ask for guidance. It should mean that we aren't afraid to tear stain the shoulder of our friend's shirt. It should mean we aren't so self-absorbed that we won't hold someone in our arms, because our arms may be the only thing that make them feel like they aren't falling apart. It should mean that we share--and not just the sorrows, but the joys too. For as much as I want to be able to cry in your presence, I want even more to be able to smile with you, jump with you, laugh with you, dance with you, sing with you, hug you really hard in happiness.

It will be raw. It will be honest. {Yes, Anderson Cooper, I am stealing your line}. But I think it's the only way we can effectively live.