When I walk with God, being isolated is a state of mind not a fact of reality.

Fear tells me that while there might be a host of people who wish to stand beside me in times of crisis, the tangled wreckage is sometimes so enormous that the best of their efforts leave them stranded at a great distance. And standing desperately alone surveying the carnage that holds all others a bay, God suddenly taps me on the shoulder, leans over and whispers, 'how about a little demolition?

The very places that we presume God not to be are the very places that are filled with His footprints and littered with His fingerprints.

Making it ‘all about me’ is making it all about no one else. And if I stop long enough to look around, I suddenly realize that a lot of ‘me’ without a lot ‘no one else’ is not a lot of anything.

It might behoove us to realize that isolation is the absence of all the senseless clutter, and all the incessant racket that would keep God from having ample room to show up and sufficient silence to be heard. Therefore, isolation may actually be the place where we are least isolated.