Wow. I thought that I had done my time in the wilderness, but as God would have it, No Such Luck. Here I am again, searching for some sign of life in the yawning horizon. Doubt fills my heart with cold fear. I am alone. I am finished. I have been in a season of total nothingness, absolutely unmoored and pointless for a few years proceeded by a few years of the most intense emotional pressure I have ever experienced. Bob Sorge says that waiting is the hottest fire a believer can endure. Our response can mean the difference between entering the promised land, or falling over dead in the wilderness.
I have been crying out to the Lord in my own wilderness. Have you led me out here to die? Perhaps dehydration has caused me to hallucinate that you were actually leading me somewhere? Doubt is like a swarm of mosquitoes on a muggy summer's eve, growing stronger with each life-sucking bite. As my faith wanes, temptation rushes in on me, grasping at my heart with it's deceptive tentacles. Before I realize it, I am frantically searching the dusty landscape for some raw materials to build my golden calf.
I can relate to the disillustioned Israelites. Having spent more time in the desert than they had expected, they began to look back. The glory of that day that they traversed the Red Sea has faded into an empty, dry wasteland. The thunderous waves parting before the Israelites, the ocean spray on their faces, the looks on the faces of the Egyptians as the watery walls closed in on them. God's deliverance was so astounding, so majestic; water parted, armies fled, swords flashed, plaques fell. It was all so obvious. When the mud of the Red Sea floor is still drying on my feet, it is so easy to rejoice and believe. But the waves of time slowly erode the memories of God's redemption.
I think of my own story, the way that God led me out of Egypt two decades ago. Miraculous, merciful, grace-filled acts of God that were no less obvious and magnificent. This word has comforted me: "The same God that brought you out of Egypt with great signs and wonders will also drive our every enemy from your promised land." He brings me out of bondange, He provides for me in the space in between, and He brings me into the Promised Land. All with the same power and outstretched arm. He brings us out for a purpose. He scatters our enemies so that we can inhabit a land of promise, purpose, and destiny.
In time, I am coming to see what some of these enemies are, and they are within. My memory is an arch enemy because it is so short. I am prone, like Peter, to take my eyes off of Jesus after only a few short steps on the water. When I am fresh out of the miry clay, still gasping for air from having the wind knocked dout of me, I am so humble, so needy, so aware of my limitations. But after a few short steps, I am back to trusting in me again. This self-confidence is deceptively subtle, and were it not for obvous consequences of my pride, I would not believe that it exists. Yet pride is revealed through the inevitable sinking that always follows such blind confidence in self.
Another enemy is my sense of time, or my tendency to misunderstand the season that I am in. The Lord spoke to me of things to come, of leaving things behind and letting things go. He just forgot to explain the timeline to me. When the season lingers on past the time that I had expected, that is when I begin looking back at Moab-to turn back to the familiar. Solid things. I have resisted this tempation, and instead, cried out to God. His answer was something like this: "You are in a wilderness season by design. Keep going. Be faithful." Nothing has changed, but his answer made all of the difference.
I have been given a compass, an instrument by which I can gauge where I am, where God is, and the way in which I am going. So while I thought I was crossing the Jordan and marching around Jericho, I may just be a few feet beyond the Red Sea. I may have years of wilderness stretching before me, but who am I to decide how long this season should last? Only the Lord knows. Only he could fashion the perfect wilderness to expose the hidden places of my heart. So while I wait on Him, my enemies are falling in the wilderness; hidden things deep within the heart that only God can see, things that hinder and weigh me down.
One of the many answers to my cry came this Sunday. My paster spoke on, can you guess? The wilderness. He quoted the scirpture in Song of Solomon, "Who is this, coming up out of the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved?" Oh, those words cause a glorious trembling in my heart. Jesus, the Lover of my soul, he is my promised land. My spirit came alive like a sagging flower that is watered for the first time in days. For Him I will endure any wilderness, however long it may be.
You have not left me! You are real, and you love me, and this journey is taking me deeper into your heart, and for that I will wait. Yes, for you my Jesus, I will walk 1,000 miles in the wilderness (or 10,000) if each step brings me closer to you. While the wilderness is not intended to kill me, it is intended to kill some things in me, things that cannot inherit God's kingdom. Nothing reveals the heart like the wilderness. So I reset my timeline and thank God for this wilderness.
I have been crying out to the Lord in my own wilderness. Have you led me out here to die? Perhaps dehydration has caused me to hallucinate that you were actually leading me somewhere? Doubt is like a swarm of mosquitoes on a muggy summer's eve, growing stronger with each life-sucking bite. As my faith wanes, temptation rushes in on me, grasping at my heart with it's deceptive tentacles. Before I realize it, I am frantically searching the dusty landscape for some raw materials to build my golden calf.
I can relate to the disillustioned Israelites. Having spent more time in the desert than they had expected, they began to look back. The glory of that day that they traversed the Red Sea has faded into an empty, dry wasteland. The thunderous waves parting before the Israelites, the ocean spray on their faces, the looks on the faces of the Egyptians as the watery walls closed in on them. God's deliverance was so astounding, so majestic; water parted, armies fled, swords flashed, plaques fell. It was all so obvious. When the mud of the Red Sea floor is still drying on my feet, it is so easy to rejoice and believe. But the waves of time slowly erode the memories of God's redemption.
I think of my own story, the way that God led me out of Egypt two decades ago. Miraculous, merciful, grace-filled acts of God that were no less obvious and magnificent. This word has comforted me: "The same God that brought you out of Egypt with great signs and wonders will also drive our every enemy from your promised land." He brings me out of bondange, He provides for me in the space in between, and He brings me into the Promised Land. All with the same power and outstretched arm. He brings us out for a purpose. He scatters our enemies so that we can inhabit a land of promise, purpose, and destiny.
In time, I am coming to see what some of these enemies are, and they are within. My memory is an arch enemy because it is so short. I am prone, like Peter, to take my eyes off of Jesus after only a few short steps on the water. When I am fresh out of the miry clay, still gasping for air from having the wind knocked dout of me, I am so humble, so needy, so aware of my limitations. But after a few short steps, I am back to trusting in me again. This self-confidence is deceptively subtle, and were it not for obvous consequences of my pride, I would not believe that it exists. Yet pride is revealed through the inevitable sinking that always follows such blind confidence in self.
Another enemy is my sense of time, or my tendency to misunderstand the season that I am in. The Lord spoke to me of things to come, of leaving things behind and letting things go. He just forgot to explain the timeline to me. When the season lingers on past the time that I had expected, that is when I begin looking back at Moab-to turn back to the familiar. Solid things. I have resisted this tempation, and instead, cried out to God. His answer was something like this: "You are in a wilderness season by design. Keep going. Be faithful." Nothing has changed, but his answer made all of the difference.
I have been given a compass, an instrument by which I can gauge where I am, where God is, and the way in which I am going. So while I thought I was crossing the Jordan and marching around Jericho, I may just be a few feet beyond the Red Sea. I may have years of wilderness stretching before me, but who am I to decide how long this season should last? Only the Lord knows. Only he could fashion the perfect wilderness to expose the hidden places of my heart. So while I wait on Him, my enemies are falling in the wilderness; hidden things deep within the heart that only God can see, things that hinder and weigh me down.
One of the many answers to my cry came this Sunday. My paster spoke on, can you guess? The wilderness. He quoted the scirpture in Song of Solomon, "Who is this, coming up out of the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved?" Oh, those words cause a glorious trembling in my heart. Jesus, the Lover of my soul, he is my promised land. My spirit came alive like a sagging flower that is watered for the first time in days. For Him I will endure any wilderness, however long it may be.
You have not left me! You are real, and you love me, and this journey is taking me deeper into your heart, and for that I will wait. Yes, for you my Jesus, I will walk 1,000 miles in the wilderness (or 10,000) if each step brings me closer to you. While the wilderness is not intended to kill me, it is intended to kill some things in me, things that cannot inherit God's kingdom. Nothing reveals the heart like the wilderness. So I reset my timeline and thank God for this wilderness.
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