Lonely Longings of a Young Introvert

God was with me!

This article may seem like a meandering away from the theme set last week, but it is not. Stick with me.

We are considering God’s original purposes for sexual intimacy, and how that guides sexual intimacy in marriage. His design is laid out in the Creation story of Genesis 1-3, and one key insight is found it verse 2:18: 

Then the Lord God said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.’  NRSV

Despite the assigned task of caring for the Garden of Eden and everyday “FaceTime” with God, Adam was alone. Likely he was clueless. He had no way of knowing why he felt the way he did. There was an unmet longing to know and be known that Adam could not yet identify, and God uttered for the first time, “This is not good.”

My childhood was incredibly blessed. Our small town in northwest Pennsylvania was safe enough for a long leash, so my parents let me wander in the woods near our home—even on a snowy night. The favorite sledding spot was College Hill—a small patch of woods near an aging Catholic seminary about six blocks away. While I have many memories of daylight runs down that steep, slick slope, bobbing and weaving between rose-cheeked children as they traipsed up the hill, my fondest memory was a moment alone, late one evening, guiding my Western Flyer runner sled down a gentle, curving path through the pines.

It was absolutely beautiful. A quiet cathedral. And lonely.

I never went through the girls-are-yucky stage. Crushes had hit me as early as kindergarten (her name was Sheila). Then there was Janet in first grade. Third grade Robin. Fourth—Sue. Later a different Robin . . . Patty . . . Jennifer . . . Lisa—uh, you get the idea. Then it was on to college.

And so gliding down that blissful path on a moonlit night, I thought of how delightful if only a girl was sharing the sled, enjoying the moment, sharing my life.

To know and be known—it’s how we are made. Not only do our hearts reach for this, but our bodies are designed this way. As I state in Into the Light, our very genitals are the closest outward connection to the deepest part of our being. To be touched there is absolutely personal. Only a person in covenant should share this part of us which is tied so closely with our hearts.

And when genitals come together, creating climax, we are sharing a knowledge of ourselves in a vulnerability that should be walled in by promises to have and to hold from our wedding day and forward.

That’s the ideal. That’s the design. And despite the distortions of this deeply fallen world, when God’s ways are followed, it can be absolutely wonderful.

Just outside the Garden gates, we find these words: “Now the man knew his wife Eve, and she conceived and bore Cain . . .” (Gen 4:1 NRSV). “Wait, he knew her?” Yep, that’s the Hebrew word: yada. It wasn’t a euphemism to obscure a steamy night of intimacy. It is simply a facet of being, woven into our very bodies. Sexual intimacy is the deepest knowing of another here on this earth. Done rightly, it can be an amazing gift for our sin-sick souls. For we all want to know and be known.

And so when we consider what takes place within the bedroom of a Christian couple, a guiding question is this: Does the way we make love provide a deep knowing of one another? Regardless of where, when or what position we use, is there an element of knowing and being known? Is it about alleviating this deep loneliness that even Adam felt in that first garden?

Another snowy night as a kid, I was again wandering alone. This Catholic school had a beautiful little chapel (pictured below), and I wandered up the granite stairway to the church doorway. With the wind blowing wildly, driving pelts of snow against my bundled body, I huddled within that stone archway. Once again, I distinctly remember wishing my current crush was cuddling closely, sheltered with me from the storm. Instead, loneliness and longing were my companions. I was made to know and be known. Even as a kid, I sensed it within.

The chapel at what was formerly known as St Mary’s Seminary, North East, PA.

Fast forward 35 years, and I was serving as a counselor at a retreat center in Ohio. The last evening of the seven-day retreat was an extended time of worship and prayer. As I sat in front of a soft spoken godly woman, she was seeking God for a word from heaven, even as she was covering my head with a white, silky prayer shawl.

My mind had recaptured that memory of the lonely young Mark, pressed against the archway. Then I heard her declare, “I see snow falling, and God is covering you with his righteousness.” Immediately I heard God whispering to that young boy within me, “I was with you in the snow.”

I wept.

In my innermost being, I connected with the God who saw me, knew me, and agreed with my innermost longing: It was not good for Mark to be alone.