Have you ever felt all alone? Especially when it comes to your most deeply held convictions—does it sometimes feel to you as if there is no one at hand who shares those convictions? As if you had somehow become an army of one!

Let me assure you, you are not the first person to feel that way. Elijah, the Hebrew prophet, expressed such concerns about 3,000 years ago. It was during the reign of Ahab.

Elijah, frightened for his life, had escaped into the wilderness. There, utterly alone and dismayed, he cried out: “I have been very jealous for the Lord God of hosts: for the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword; and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away” (I Kings 19:10).

People who share your beliefs slain—and your own life the target of a government death squad? It doesn’t get much more terrifyingly solitary than that.

Yet even in the midst of this seeming abandonment, Elijah was never really alone. After some pretty dramatic turmoil and uncertainty (including storm, earthquake, and fire), something came his way: “A still small voice” (I Kings 19:12), the voice of God.

That story from the Old Testament might seem remote from life today. But I once had my own “mini-Elijah” experience in a very contemporary setting. It happened during a business trip. I was far from home, attending a weeklong marketing conference at which I was required to attend every single event.

One night we were bused to a distant section of our host city for dinner. The organizers stressed that this neighborhood was dangerous after dark. That was part of the reason for transporting us in and out. But the other reason, they explained, was to help us celebrate Mardi Gras (it happened to be that time of year) by drinking as much as we liked without having to worry about getting ourselves home safely. In keeping with the Mardi Gras theme, guests were offered shots of hard liquor while boarding the bus, and drinks were served throughout the trip. By the time we got to the restaurant a number of attendees were already showing signs of intoxication. And at dinner—where plenty more alcohol was available—the mood really turned raucous.

No matter how loudly the wind or storm may shriek—we are never separated from that “still small voice.”

By that point in my life, I was well accustomed to attending events where I was the only nondrinker. I had good reasons for my abstention, and I was perfectly comfortable saying no. But this event was different. Conversation and activity had become loud and boisterous, and all the activity seemed centered around alcohol. There just didn’t seem to be any place—or companionship—for a nondrinker. I longed to get away but couldn’t see any means of escape—until I remembered God. Of course, I realized, He had never stopped loving me! Nor would He put me in an awkward place. Best of all, He was my never-failing companion. Any evidence to the contrary was just illusion. My only job was to deny that illusion and cling to the truth.

It seemed hard in that cacophonous setting, but right there, at the noisy dinner table, I turned my thoughts to God and insisted that I was comfortably at home with Him—at that moment and at every other. Then a couple I had barely noticed began signaling to me from the other side of the table. I moved over to join them, and the first thing they said was: “We noticed you weren’t drinking. We’re not either, and we thought that you might like to keep us company.”

It turned out they were Mormons. They were a lovely couple, very warm and friendly. The wife had done her mission in Africa and had a number of fascinating stories to share. We spent the rest of the meal deep in a conversation I really enjoyed.

After dinner, the drinking seemed to be escalating again. The husband asked me if I wouldn’t prefer to return to my hotel. I said: “Yes, but I’m trapped. We were told there’s no safe way home from here except on the hired bus.” He said, “Actually, that’s not true.” He explained that he had a number for a very reliable car service that traveled to every part of the city. He suggested I ask the bartender to call them for me (this was a time before cellphones) and predicted I would be back at my hotel in no time. He was right. Half hour later, I was back in my room, right on time for a favorite TV show. I climbed into bed to enjoy it, feeling very grateful—and not the slightest bit alone.

This little experience was a great lesson for me. I have leaned on it many times in the years since. No matter where we may find ourselves—and no matter how loudly the wind or storm may shriek—we are never separated from that “still small voice.” Instead of being an army of one, we are at one—at one with the only power that really is.