I hunt. I also fish. I also do anything outdoorsy that I can get away with, usually alone. Linda has never understood how I can spend the time that I spend alone in the bush, nor why I do it. To be honest, I have never really thought about the whys and wherefores. I just do it because I have to.
Linda plays cards. Not the kind you are thinking of, but solitaire. And not the kind of solitaire with real cards but the computer kind. I have never understood how she can spend the time she spends alone in front of a computer screen playing solitaire, nor why she does it. I don’t think she has ever thought about the whys and wherefores. She just does it. She used to knit.
Some time ago, we received the shocking news that two young adult women of a family we know in the Chilcotin had been hit by a logging truck. They were outside of their pickup tending to something mechanical, perhaps chains. The logging truck somehow lost control on the ice, slid and apparently sideswiped them. We got news that both girls’ bodies were horribly broken up as a result of the accident and hanging onto life by a thread. The news greatly shook both of us. I grabbed a rifle and headed into the bush alone. Linda went downstairs and fired up the computer to play solitaire. It was all about solitude.
I would not dare to speak for my wife, but for me solitude is the furnace for my soul. Whenever my inner being is pressed, stressed, oppressed, or even impressed, I have to have solitude to refine the deep experience that I have internalized. I have to be alone. For me it is a matter of the Holy Spirit and my human soul.
As soon as I mention solitude, I know there are many who will say, “If solitude is being alone, I don’t need it. I am alone far too much; I am lonely.” But for me solitude, in the words of Stephan Eyre (Drawing Close to God), “is being alone on purpose.” It is choosing to be solitary. Loneliness, on the other hand, happens to you. It is not something you choose but something thrust upon you. When I grab for my rod or rifle and head for the hills alone, I am making a choice to be alone.
I am also making a choice to be alone in a specific place. For me, place is extremely important to solitude. Whether it’s in the bush or in a favourite room or in some other space, place flavours solitude. For me, nature is the perfect seasoning; for Linda it’s her favourite room.
The other thing important to solitude is what I am doing. Contrary to what most people believe and almost all experts write, solitude is not best as a mindless inactive endeavour. The mind is never inactive; neither is the body. Again, it is a matter of choosing to engage the mind and the body in ways that provide the right seasoning for solitude. For me, this means quiet and still activities that help me to be comfortable in solitude. For me it is sitting silently and still in a hunting spot, observing nature. For me it is entering the zen of fly-casting. For Linda it is sitting silently in front of her computer doing something repetitive like playing solitaire, or in her favourite chair knitting. The mind and body are active but in a minimal kind of way. It’s kind of like tai chi—deliberately reduced but not ceased mind and body activity.
The other important ingredient that provides zest to solitude is silence. Again I am not talking about the silence of everything else, but silence from myself. There is no perfect silence, so I need to place myself in the noise that edifies solitude. For me, the birdsongs or sound of the wind in the aspens or the tinkle of Trickle Creek are perfect. For Linda it’s the little computer beeps, or the click of her needles. There is comfort from these sounds. But in the midst of these, we are personally silent. Solitude needs personal silence in order to be the furnace of my soul. It opens me up to listen, to be refined, to be renewed.
I suppose I have to say it: sitting alone in front of the TV, radio or with a cell phone poised to ring is not good for solitude, at least not for me. TV and radio, or even soft music playing, provide too much input. The telephone provides too easy of an escape. These things throw water on the soul-furnace, so to speak.
So what happens when one chooses solitude? Sometimes I just rest; the kind of rest with my eyes wide open and my mind running easy that leaves me smiling. I have noticed my heart rate usually slows down, my anxiety level dissipates, and for some reason that I will never understand, my soul, my inner being, deeply heals. Maybe solitude is to the soul like bed-rest is to a back injury, I don’t know. But with solitude I do know I heal in my soul.
In choosing solitude, I also know that many times my thoughts get straightened out and simplified. Frequently I receive the grace of acceptance through solitude; the sense of “it is what it is, and it’s okay.” Very often my creative edge somehow gets sharpened. Again, I don’t know why or how these things happen; it is never intentional, it just happens.
Community prepares me for solitude. Solitude prepares me for community. Dietrich Bonhoeffer waxed eloquent concerning this in his book Life Together. One thing I have noticed is that my capacity for giving and receiving love is increased by the times I spend in solitude. My ability to be tolerant is also enhanced. There is something about being away that enables me to come together. I notice and appreciate these benefits in my life in the church and with my family.
Most of all, I have noticed how solitude benefits my marriage. Linda does too. When I get particularly crotchety, she will virtually hand me my fishing rod and say, “Here! Go blow the stink off.” I know that she knows that I need to be alone. Marriage has been described as two ticks without a dog (Eyre, Drawing Close to God: The Essentials of a Dynamic Quiet Time). I think what that means is that marriage partners often come together to have their needs met. The expectations are often great and soon, so too is the frustration. Often each partner gets more needy and greedy as time goes on. Choosing solitude leaves me alone to deal with my needy self. Choosing solitude puts me back on track with the fact that being together is about meeting my wife’s needs, not just having my own needs met. It makes me more realistic in what I can expect to receive, too. There is a real grace that comes to being together out of choosing to be alone.
But by far the greatest gift of solitude—the one that is the source of all the others mentioned above—is what solitude does to God and me. I don’t often set off to be alone with God, but when I do, God usually shows up. It happens over and over again in the Bible. Abraham sets off to be alone and God shows up with a promise and a ram. Jacob sets off to be alone and God shows up to wrestle. Moses sets off to be alone and God shows up burning in a bush. Joshua sets off to be alone and God shows up as commander. Elijah sets off to be alone and God shows up in the stone-cold silence of his cave. In the Bible, from cover to cover, from Joshua to Jesus, there is this connection between solitude and God showing up. Solitude has the capacity to clear the decks of my life and allow God in. For me, sometimes it is just unspoken presence, like the kind between two good friends. Sometimes it takes the shape of a silent soliloquy, with God just listening to me. Not often, but often enough so as to not unnerve me, it takes the form of an unvoiced colloquy. Whatever the form, God is distinctly present. And in the midst of the solitude and silence there is communication; prayer in the purest sense.
