I sit at a desk in an AirBnb in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales. I gaze through white shutters to the pale purple wisteria crawling along the rail that gives the porch its boundary. Beyond the wisteria is a beautifully landscaped garden underneath a blue and grey patchwork sky. Despite the slight ache of loneliness that has accompanied these past few days, something tells me that this is sacred time.

Next to me sit a white plate and mug. The plate has a streak of chocolate left from the biscuit I ate to accompany the tea I purchased from a local store in a day of solo wandering. I switch on the lamp that stands like a sentinel on the corner of the desk. It’s light deepens the shadows in the room. Despite the longing that pushes gently on the walls of my chest, I sense that this is hallowed time.

I don’t often admit to being lonely, because I don’t often feel it. When the pain of a great heartbreak, now some years passed into my history, subsided, I found deep peace in being alone.

But there are times when the loneliness that usually lies dormant, awakens. Like a meal being prepared, a unique set of ingredients combine to draw that particular emotional flavour to the surface. A dream-come-true wedding; time spent with married friends; a vague relational prospect that never eventuates; a love cherished and true but not meant to be more; couples dancing among the tulips; a table for one; a cosy, but silent, cottage; a cold side of a queen-sized bed.

The loneliness simmers, and I realise I have a choice.

Do I push it away? Lock it inside a vault made of apathy and bury it in distraction? I’ve done this many a time before.

Or do I gaze at it? Do I rest my mind’s eye on it as thoughtfully and as gently as I gazed out of the window at the pale purple wisteria? Do I observe and marvel at this holy emotion?

I become aware that as my fingers have typed out this reflection I have made my choice.

I’ve stared into my loneliness, and see it as something beautiful. A beautiful reminder of a deep truth of the universe. A truth woven into the fabric of reality by a loving and relational Creator:

You are not meant to be alone.

I fix my eyes on the scene outside of my window. The sky has become grey with storm clouds; the air has cooled. Thunder rumbles as I notice that the room has become dark save for the steady, symbolic lamplight.

This lonely day has become a lovely reminder:

You will not always be alone.

The day dawned bright and blue. The music of my mother and sister filled my small unit, later to be added to the music of more women – beautiful women – gathering together to celebrate a birthday of another beautiful woman.

What makes women beautiful? Let me tell you that it is not their hair or eyes or teeth or fingers or figures.

Women are beautiful when they laugh together, turning autumn to springtime with the warmth of the sound.

Women are beautiful when they hold each other in strong, capable, gentle hands. Each embrace, or shoulder squeeze, or twirl of hair around affectionate finger, a monument to the loveliness of community.

Women are beautiful when they speak – with stories and affirmations spilling out of open hands and hearts and minds. There is beauty in their authentic example of the power of passionate and animated storytelling.

Women are beautiful when they share. Selflessly giving of time and money and gifts to bless one another with no expectation of return.

Women are beautiful when they pray. When they ask God to be present as they gather. When they acknowledge the immense Love under Whom we all live and laugh and love.

What a wonder to sit at the same table with so many of the women who have shaped me, and also women I have only ever seen at a glance. A wonder to know that we are bound together by the Love that makes all women (and all humanity) wonderful.