It's a Lonely, Lonely, Lonely, Lonely World

I read a very sad and very insightful article this week.  The article, entitled "Cell Phones Do Not Make Good Friends," chronicled how our culture's compulsive use of digital technology (namely, cell phones) is eroding our personal relationships. In other words, people are more lonely nowadays, and they have fewer friends, and this corresponds in part to how obsessed our brains have become with techno-gadgets.

I sometimes yearn, I must admit, for an iPhone.  I usually do not, but sometimes I do.  When Jerry and I are on one of our crazy long road trips to Kentucky, for example, and Lilia is quickly reaching meltdown mode in her car seat, and we LONG to know where is the closest McDonald's with a play land -- THAT is when I yearn for one.  I fully realize the abundance of neato features inherent in the little gizmos.  I applaud Steve Jobs for his creatively brilliant brain.  And they can be covered in some cutesy little jackets and things to reflect one's personal taste.  They have their uses, and yes, I sometimes yearn for one.

But usually I do not.

I'll tell you what I do yearn for:  Friendship.

I'm going to be embarrassingly vulnerable:  I'm desperately lonely for friends.  Aside from my precious hubby, who is my dearest friend (as he should be), I have very few friends these days.  That is not to say that I do not have ANY friends.  I do, and some of them are exceedingly dear to my heart.  But the friend that one can label as a true friend, the kind of friend who loves dearer than a brother, is practically non-existent.

I don't think I remember a time of longing so desperately for a friend.  (See, I told you I was going to be embarrassingly vulnerable.)  I'm so lonely for a friend.

Which is why I find myself lately doing two things:  1. Abhorring more than ever the impersonal nature of our culture; and 2. Remembering dear friends of the past and present.

As far as Number One is concerned:  To be quite frank, I wish people would get off their cell phones.  I wish that they would stop checking texts when they are talking to me.  I wish they would turn off their cell phone when sitting at the dinner table with me.  I wish they would stop pulling out their phones to entertain my daughter and instead (here's a thought!) TALK to her.  Sing to her.  Play with her.  Read to her.

I don't say this to be cruel, and I fully realize that I check my own cell phone (old school model that it is) far too often.  Facebook beckons me too frequently.  In other words, I'm guilty, too.  But I've so far been able to avoid becoming one of those people who sits with a "friend" for two straight hours and never exchanges so much as a nod while I scroll through three gazillion posts and text messages.  No wonder people are lonely!

On to Number Two:  Dear friends of the past and present.  I consider myself blessed beyond words to have had some of the dearest, truest friends a girl could hope to have...

Molly, for example.  Though I see her hardly ever these days, and though we only occasionally email a friendly greeting and update, I will always treasure this friend found in second grade.  I remember all of our rambles as we rode "doubles" on her ten speed through alleyways and neighborhood streets at the risk of our lives, laughing the whole way.

And Missy (thank you, Mr. Varner!).  She always remembered to bake chocolate chip bar cookies for me before I came to her house (doughy and gooey in the center).  I love her no-nonsense, down to earth nature, and her faith inspires me and spurns me forward.

Melanie... we only just started becoming friends before she and her husband left town, yet somehow it seemed as if I had found a real sister.  I can share my heart over email with Melanie, and she "gets it."  She should, I guess, since she's practically my emotional, intellectual, and psychological clone.

Jenny.  What do I say about Jenny?  Frasier, fingernail-biting, eharmony, Matlock, and cross country road trips, for starters.  There is a verse in Proverbs:  "There is a friend who loves closer than a brother."  THAT is Jenny.

And there are others whom I remember with teary-eyed fondness:  Tara, whose beauty and laughter attract all in her path; Hilary, a lovely mix of goofiness and intellectual sophistication; Leslie, whose nutty humor was a carbon copy of my own, even if others questioned our "mental health;" and Emily, who roamed with me through high school hallways during lunch breaks and was my faithful "partner in crime" as we toilet papered the boys' homes. 

These are the kind of friends whose faces stay with you in the desert places of life.  Their voices and and smiles, the memories you share, do not fade away over miles and years.  They remain.  The friendship slackens through distance and time, perhaps, but the heart is somehow permanently knit.  Oh, how I miss these friends.

My husband is teaching through Proverbs in our Sunday School class, and he taught last week on the recurring theme of friendship.  Since my husband is a "data head," his lesson involved statistics -- lots of them.  Most of the statistics convey, like the article I recently read, the general and deepening loneliness of individuals.  We're speaking less.  We're watching TV more.  We're lonelier than ever.

There's a children's book by Eric Carle called, "Will You Be My Friend?"  In it, a mouse approaches many different animals (all bigger than him) and asks, "Will you be my friend?"  Of course the mouse is very small and vulnerable, and he takes great risks in approaching the other animals and asking them to be his friend.  Most of the animals sadly say "no" (even though they are not on cell phones). 

That is how I feel these days.  I feel like that little mouse asking people to be my friend.  They don't say 'no' but they don't say 'yes,' either.  Sometimes they never reply.  But there are some little sparks of hope here and there, when someone is willing to give it a shot and willing to start investing the time to become friends.  That, at least, is encouraging to my heart.

I don't know when, if ever, I will make another true friend.  I don't know when I'll have that kindred spirit with whom to regularly meet over coffee, girl talk, and prayer.  But I guess I'll keep trying, even though discouragement has overwhelmed me.  It is taking everything I have, but I guess I will keep trying and risking, like that little mouse in the silly children's book.  I will keep asking, "Will you be my friend?"

And maybe after some time, little or long, I will find.... another Jenny.  Another Melanie.  Another Molly or Missy or Tara.

In the meantime, I will ask the Lord to help me become the kind of friend that these have been to me, and I will thank Him that I have dear friends in memory, if not in presence.

Heartbroken

Goodbye, America.  I'll miss you.

Mrs. B.'s Amateur Commentary on the Vice Presidential Debate

Well, well, well.  I must confess that up until tonight I had thought that President Obama was perhaps the most arrogant, childish person on the planet, but I think I've changed my mind.  After viewing tonight's Ryan/Biden debate, I submit that his VP has earned this honor, hands down.  Congratulations, Joe!

Let's just review the Veep's performance for a moment, shall we:  Snarky laughter, interruption, shaking head, interruption, snarky laughter, rude comment, interruption, snarky laughter (with melodramatic, upraised hands), nervous head-shaking, lie, lie, lie, and interruption.  It seems that many respondents to post-debate polls are referring to Mr. Biden as "boorish," "rude," and "a general buffoon."

Gee... ya' THINK?!

Sometimes I think that perhaps I am judging the President and his Veep too harshly when, in quiet, sober moments of political reflection, I inevitably regard them as two whining, spoiled, childish brats.

Really, though, that's too silly of me.  On the contrary, I have been far too gracious.

Turning Wheels

The results are in:  More Americans now die from suicide than from car crashes.  

Before you respond by saying, "Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine?," let me say this:  I'm not trying to be a major downer.  Yesterday, when Jerry informed me of this news -- something he had read earlier in the day -- we looked at each other aghast.  We were speechless.  We nearly cried.  I just feel compelled to address this issue, even though the nature of the topic is nothing short of horrifyingly tragic.  This will not be an uplifting blog entry.

It takes a lot of desperation for someone to actually take his or her own life.   By nature, we want to live.  So to get to the point of willfully causing your very own life to cease, one must be more than just merely depressed.  One must be to the point of absolute desperation and despondency.  

To be candid, I know how this feels.  A little more than twelve years ago -- in the weeks preceding my conversion to Christ -- I was at this point myself.  If you haven't been there, take my word for it:  You don't want to be.  There is something sinister and terrifying when the mind begins to invent ways of doing oneself in.  It is an alien place, and a dark one.  Although I never attempted to take my life, the wheels in my mind were turning:  Maybe I could just swallow a bottle of pills.  Maybe I could just slit my wrists.  Maybe I could....

Perhaps some other day I will share the details that some people know, but many don't -- the reasons why I had gotten to the point of such desperation.  But for now, I will just say that I had no hope.  I hated life, and I hated myself.  I hated pretty much everything, and so I wanted to die.  More than that, I often wished I had never been born.  In my mind at the time, to have never been born would have been much, much better.  And so perhaps you can see why the frightening wheels were turning.

Thankfully, God intervened at the point when I was ready to trust Him.  And although it was a long road with battles along the way, He eventually got me to a place of wholeness and healing.  No longer did I want to die, no longer did I wish for nihilo.  

But back to the tragic reality:  More Americans now take their own lives than die in car wrecks.  The number is something like 37,000 dying in this horrible manner.  Hundreds of people every single day.  Taking.  Their.  Own.  Lives.  

We hear numbers like that, and our first question is, "Why?"  I don't want to sound trite, but I do believe the answer is a fairly simple one:  They have no hope.  Man can live without a lot of things, but he cannot live without hope, without significance.  This is how he differs from the animal kingdom.  The imago Dei needs reclaiming, and therein is true hope and significance.  Therein is life.

As our culture drifts further and further away from truth, is it any wonder that more people murder themselves?  Is it not the logical outflow of our cultural mindset?  We reject any notion of absolute truth, so there is no compass.  We believe that we come from nothing, so there is nowhere to go and no one to help.  We crown ourselves as king even as we reject any notion of significance, so there is only madness without hope.  With a worldview like this, why not kill ourselves?  Really, there is no reason not to do so.  

But oh, what a tragedy.  And how my heart breaks over it.