When we're in the wilderness, it doesn't matter which direction we look: we don't know where to go. We can't see any path that promises to quench our thirst, to heal our broken body, or to fill our empty stomach. There's no direction that promises to end our suffering. We need rest, but we can't stop moving because movement means we might be getting closer to respite. We lie down when our exhaustion overwhelms us, but the very things that brought us to the wilderness in the first place—our friend's death and our powerlessness to give or receive comfort, an untimely diagnosis and the panicked scramble to fit as much as we possibly can into the time we have left, the weight we have on our heart from fear caused by sin and secrets, and our absolute knowledge that we are unable to get ourselves out.
It's in the wilderness that we discover how hopeless we really are. It's there we come to understand that we alone are no match for this world. It's there the final remnants of our terrible pride fall away, we fall to our knees, and we scream through our tears and clenched teeth, "God! Save me!"
And then we sit alone.
And we wait.
And wait.
Until a still, small voice whispers in our ear, "I have overcome the world.... Follow me."
And whether it's from desperate hope, or simple desperation, we follow our God through the unchanging landscape because He promises victory. Now, where we once found only pain, we find peace. In the place where we wept from hunger, we find we are completely filled. He leads us from dry wilderness to green pastures flowing with the cool streams of living water our soul has longed for all this time. He wipes away our last tear as He promises us we will never be thirsty again.
In the wilderness, we are lost, but He guides us out and we are found.
