To Jon in Asheville
“Michael, I’m 44. I have a job, a house, a church I attend. From the outside, everything looks fine. But I’m lonely. Not ‘I need more friends’ lonely — I mean soul-deep, isolated, like I’m invisible. I don’t really talk to anyone about it because it feels pathetic. But it’s starting to eat at me.”
Jon,
I know that ache. The kind of loneliness that doesn’t always look like empty rooms — it looks like full calendars and empty conversations. It looks like being around people, but never really being seen. You’re not weak for feeling it. You’re honest.
And that already makes you stronger than most.
This world will tell you that success should fill you up. House, job, routine, even church — check enough boxes, and you’re not allowed to feel hollow. But that’s a lie. Deep down, we all crave more than productivity or social interaction. We want connection. Soul-level recognition. And when that’s missing, no accomplishment can cover it.
You’re not broken. You’re human.
Loneliness, especially for men, is often buried beneath strength. We carry it like a silent weight, hidden behind competence. But what we don’t speak will grow in the dark. And before long, it becomes bitterness. Addiction. Numbness. The soul’s way of saying, “I can’t keep doing this alone.”
But listen to me — this isn’t just psychological. It’s spiritual.
In Genesis, God said it’s not good for man to be alone. That wasn’t just about marriage. That was about how we’re wired — for fellowship, for truth-telling, for shared burdens and meals and laughter that touches the soul. The enemy wants men isolated because he knows lonely men are vulnerable. But God built us for communion.
The pain you’re feeling is not a defect. It’s a signal.
And like all threshing floor moments, it’s not trying to destroy you. It’s trying to wake something up in you.
You don’t need a thousand people. You need a few who know the real you. But that kind of community only forms where there’s honesty. That means risk. And yes, it might mean rejection — but more often, it opens the door for connection you never knew was possible.
So what can you do?
Start small. Reach out to one man in your circle. Ask for coffee — not to fix anything, but to be human. Don’t open with your wounds. Open with your time. Show up consistently. Vulnerability, in men, is not weakness — it’s leadership. It’s courage. It’s how trust is built.
And keep showing up to God, even when it feels like He’s quiet.
Psalm 68:6 says, “God sets the lonely in families.” That’s more than a poetic line. It’s a promise. He doesn’t just notice the lonely. He acts. He places. He restores.
Sometimes the first family He gives isn’t blood. It’s spiritual. It’s imperfect people who meet in basements, Bible studies, over tacos or Tuesday basketball. And through shared laughter and shared stories, something eternal begins to form.
You don’t have to fake it, Jon. You don’t have to wait until you feel strong again. You just have to take the next step. Start the conversation. Open the door. Show up once. And keep showing up.
You’re not invisible. You’re seen.
You’re not weak. You’re reaching.
You’re not too late. You’re just on the threshing floor — and that’s where God removes the husk so the real man can rise.
With strength and mercy,
— Michael
Michael Vowell: Reflections on Grace, Love, and Leadership 