Desert Land

“O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you. My soul thirsts for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water.” (Psalm 63:1)

“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. Where can I go and meet with God?” (Psalm 42:1-2)

This summer has been dry for my soul. It has been a summer of harsh heat, of bruised reeds and smoldering coals, of a laziness that keeps one in the dimness of a stifling room, unmoved and unmoving—the only sound the whirring wings of a single, over-sized fly.

I have wandered this desert land for two months; I have felt the long weary dead distance to God, the strain of walking through sand, the burnt breaking skin, the rattling gasps of dry lungs breaking free from bleeding cracked black lips. Hour after hour, day after day—wavering heat rises from the endless, empty horizon and unrelieved sand. My steps slip on hillsides as I wander, aimlessly, eyes squinting shut, having no clear nor vague idea to look for water. The dullness of my senses prevents me from being taken in by mirages.

Was there life in this place—anything restorative or redemptive at all to stumble across by chance? Was there any way to lighten this load, to refresh the soul? Would it ever rain again—would heaven ever open with a glorious peal of sudden thunder and crack open the clouds with lightning would the sky drop, turning asphalt black and plastering the brilliant orange of autumn leaves to the pavement would the land be soaked again, dripping with the life and light of the Lord of hosts? Where was the ocean? Where was the Spirit?

“Jesus answered her, ‘If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.’” (John 4:10)

I’m asking, Lord! I’m asking! I know—I’ve tasted it! Restore my passion for your voice and redeem my heart’s wilting petals from its ugly, soulless malaise.

“Jesus answered, ‘Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.’” (John 4:13-14)

Give me this water, Lord! I’m thirsty! I hear and know and believe the promises, but my dry tongue still distracts. I desperately look around me for one muddy puddle. I feel in my depths a faintness overtake me, but out of the darkness hear a voice:

“The Spirit and the bride say, ‘Come!’ And let him who hears say, ‘Come!’ Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.” (Revelation 22:17)

And with the painful realization of my weakness I sit, a messy heap in the dust, without to energy to go. If He wishes me to rise, He must bring me the water Himself. And I sit, and I wait quietly, watching, and in the stillness—perhaps I will give in to images without resistance—hope breaches the crest of the sandy slope before me. I watch its crawling progress to the trough where I lay—it sends tiny stones skittering down to meet my face, a gentle avalanche assuring me of hope’s actual existence.

“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior." (Habakkuk 3:17-18)

My Lord knows where I am. I cannot flee from His presence or go from His Spirit or be hidden by darkness. He will leave the ninety-nine to find me, and will lead me again by quiet waters, and lead me out of this darkness and into His marvelous light. He is the Alpha and the Omega, and He has come, and is offering “water without cost from the spring of the water of life” (Revelation 21:6). I hear His song and am lifted from the dirt and my heart from darkness and my spirit from despair.



Source: gracehilladultcare.com



And I am brought through another season and am washed clean and made new by His great, tender love and great, forever patience; and I breathe in, lungs stretched full, heart stretched full, and breathe out—a lazy, contented sigh of relief warmed again by the closeness of His presence.

“Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will respond as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt.” (Hosea 2:14-15)