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Many years ago, I was preparing to speak at a women’s conference, the topic of which was strengthening our Christian friendships. About two days before my talk — I was just putting a few finishing touches on it — I suddenly started to get this nagging feeling that I was to include a section on loneliness. It would take some reworking.

I called a mentor of mine and asked, do you think this is weird? Should I go there? A wise and practical woman, she told me to keep praying about it, asking that God would increase or decrease my desire to include this section according to his will.

So, I did. I had been working on this issue of loneliness for some time. I confess I struggled with it even up to about age 40. Not everyone experiences this, but for those who do, you know what I’m talking about — it can be a crushing, hidden kind of cross. But by the time of this conference, I was on the other side of it. As I got older, it just started to lift for a whole host of reasons, not least of which I found myself much more active in my charisms. It’s virtually impossible to be lonely when operating in a God-given charism.

As the day drew closer, my desire to include a few points on loneliness grew unmistakably stronger — and in particular the gifts that loneliness brings, among them this radical invitation to enter into Christ’s loneliness and to keep him company there. At the end of my presentation, a woman came up to me, arms outstretched, crying. She asked, “Can I hug you?” I said, “Sure,” and she fell into my arms for a moment and quietly wept. She pulled back and paused — she almost couldn’t get this next thing out. “My son has autism,” she said, and she leaned in again. I just held her thinking that was the end of her story. But then she pulled back again and said, “The other day, he came to me and he said ‘Mama, I’m so lonely.’” She paused and then added, “I didn’t know how to speak to him about his loneliness until today. You gave me the words to speak to him about his loneliness.”

I will never forget that moment.

Zephaniah promises that the Father himself sings over us, indeed, “The Lord, your God is in your midst, a warrior who gives victory; he will rejoice over you with gladness, he will renew you in his love, he will exult over you with loud singing, as on a day of festival” (Zeph 3:17). I do not doubt for a moment that the joy that went through me in this woman’s testimony was nothing short of the Father’s song hovering over me, reverberating through my very heart. Every single minute of loneliness I had suffered was instantly and entirely transformed into pure gift.

And this is part of how Jesus heals us. Not by relieving us of our pain and suffering, not by removing our crosses, but by giving them meaning, purpose, a place to go and grow so that they may be used and redeemed, transformed into heaven’s joy, lavishly flung out over the universe in the glory of heaven’s song and the laughter of its occupants: angels and saints and an exultant, Warrior-Father.

Teach, me, oh Lord. Train my ear to listen for your voice rejoicing over me in and through the renewal in your love that you offer so abundantly. And for those who are lonely, let them hear you, too. Show them how to offer their loneliness to you, so you might turn it into a healing song of gladness.

Kelly is the award-winning author of seven books, including “Jesus Approaches” and the “Your Heart, His Home Prayer Companion.” She travels the country leading retreats and speaking. Visit her website at lizk.org.

Father Michael Van Sloun’s column “Faith Fundamentals” will not appear this month. Find his Eucharist series at Faith Fundamentals.