Understanding the Desert April 16, 2013

Today, I understand the desert. I understand the doubt, the fear, the annoyance of wandering, the blistering heat, sand in your eyes-and everywhere else, and the anger. I understand how and why Israel complained, shook their fists, were defeated, and actually longed for slavery. I get it. I get that the sand gets in places of your soul you didn’t know existed. I get the mentality of despair in the face of mirages of hope and the reality of a wasteland. No longer do I read the exodus passages and snicker “hah, how could they?! Idiots…did you really forget all that just happened for you?! A sea opened up, the plagues, helllllooo—a pillar of fire”. I understand, because I’m there.

I get the doubt that comes after divine intervention. I get the fear that comes after a monumental event—the “now what”. I get that its annoying to not be led the same way—uh really, no more smoke and flames? No more open seas? How can I walk like this—how can I go on when all I see is desert? Some promise this is. I now grasp the “let down” after missions—the ache of losing close friends and family—accompanied by grief that feels like fear—the psychological and emotional blender that spending time in extreme poverty brings—when it’s face is a child’s. I get the defeat, the doubt, the despair. I understand that burying your head in the sand seems like a good idea—at least you don’t have to look at the desert and the bleak, scorched, and dry surroundings that seemingly make up all your future.  Just like one of the kiddos I work with so often proclaims with a pout and a nod of defiance I find myself saying “never gunna get up again. Never gunna have joy-filled faith again—hmp!” And wallow in fear, doubt, and despair that I’m losing my faith and becoming cynical, hardened, jaded.

But I also am reminded of the God that pursued and provided in the desert. Even in their whiniest moments—they were not forsaken—a rock poured forth water, manna fell. Even when they made a golden calf—they were punished but not wholly condemned. If God is who he says he is, than he is faithful when I’m not. I have to submit my fallen, finite, and not yet fully discouraged mind and heart. I certainly do not know or understand everything—and I have a right anger at injustice, poverty, lives being loss. But I have to remember that the past—before I experienced the loss of life, my hearing, my ignorance about poverty—was not all it seems. Sometimes hindsight is rose-colored—not 20:20.

So today as I understand the desert—I also have to understand that there is purpose in it—there is a refining of my faith—even when its reached mustard-seed proportions—and that I won’t be forsaken, condemned, abandoned. Today, like Israel, I trudge on in the desert—today it is a duty to hope, but some tomorrow it may be a delight.