How Lonely

Every time Shane turns over, the red numbers inform him that another hour has passed. It won't be long before the jarring sounds of the alarm would begin. This routine of sleep and wakefulness has been the norm lately. Though there is really nothing overtly worrying in Shane's life, his nights are spent taking inventory of his life. That is what he's doing now. He thinks of his wife, whom he loves dearly and depends on more than she knows. Their children are all sleeping peacefully, trusting that dad can protect them from anything. His job is secure, though just as monotonous as everyone else's. His church crosses his mind and the time he spends there each week. Then his thoughts turn to God. Nothing seems out of place to him, yet he still seems so lonely in the damp night.
How could he be lonely? With everything he has in his life there is still a void that hasn't been reached. He's tried talking to people about his feelings. His wife understands and relates, yet cannot do anything more for him. His pastor hears, but tells him to wait patiently for God. He asks God but from he only hears...
God. Does he hear? Is he listening? There seems to be no answer. Shane still feels out of reach and untapped. So much more is there for him to offer, yet no one dares look beneath the surface. God, who is supposed to discern the heart, seems no different this evening. God, who wants more than anything our intimacy, doesn't answer like Shane wants. So Shane thinks about how his prayers. They're each so passe and similar. He wonders if his heart is truly in it. He wonders if he really believes that God hears them, though he does know. He turns once more from the clock's red eyes to the dark window in his bedroom and remembers the lines he once read in a poem.
"I'm too alone in the world, yet not alone enough
to make each hour holy.
I'm too small in the world, yet not small enough
to be simply in your presence, lilke a thing --
just as it is."
As that stanza repeats in his memory, Shane rises quietly from his bed and leaves his bedroom. Sporting his pajamas, Shane goes out the front door into the rain and looks upward, the drops pattering his face. Shane smiles and closes his eyes in gratitude.

The lines of poetry are from Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, book 1 poem 13