Fountains in the Desert

Hand lifted, eyes shaded against the burning sun.

Tongue sticks to the roof of the mouth, vision blurs.

Mirages appear, dizziness sets in.

And the weary traveler falls to the ground in despair, crying out, “How long, O Lord?”

This weary traveler is me.

This desert is my wilderness.

I once thought that we all go through “wilderness experiences.”

The children of Israel went through one; Elijah went through one… and really, can we expect any less?

But at the same time, I must confess I was wrong.

We do not go through separate wilderness experiences.

We are constantly in the wilderness. Without ceasing.

An oasis rises to greet the weary vision at times, yes. We come across water every now and again. But it is only God’s providence and love that keeps us trudging, one foot in front of the other, toward the other side of this endless desert.

I sit in a foreign country, looking at the pain around me. A few months ago, I wondered, “How on earth could I stay?”

Now, I still sit here, and I look toward home, shuddering, and question, “How can I go home?”

Fears have danced around in my head with a fiendish gleeful abandon recently. Not just about one thing, either: it’s certainly more than one thing.

I sat on a swing past the chapel last night, looking at the stars, heart heavy, and asking God, “How could I take up something like that? How could I do something like that? How could I survive?”

And then came the unavoidable, “Why me…?”

With tears in my eyes, I asked it. “Why me, Lord? Why does it have to be my heart, my family, my life? Why?”

I look around at these precious children. They’ve been asking me if I’m coming back. I’ve told them I don’t know.

The problem is, that now I do know.

Unless God intervenes, I likely will never be back. I’ll carry with me a heart full of memories and lessons learned, and the changes will remain in place.

But I don’t think I’ll ever be back.

The wilderness looks endless, stretching on in painful, weary, lonely miles.

A smile does crack my sorrow: I must certainly wonder what the Lord is doing now. Suppositions fill my mind, and I can almost already see wisdom in what’s been happening: but then, I don’t know.

And the smile fades…

I don’t want to face the music I know I’ll have to in less than four weeks.

I don’t want to face another long stretch of wilderness.

But now I realize it will never come to an end. It will never end. This wilderness will continue until my life ends.

However, there’s always a rainbow in the rainstorm. And I found it just this morning.

“When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I the LORD will hear them, I the God of Israel will not forsake them. 

“I will open rivers in high places, and fountains in the midst of the valleys: I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water. 

“I will plant in the wilderness the cedar, the shittah tree, and the myrtle, and the oil tree; I will set in the desert the fir tree, [and] the pine, and the box tree together: 

“That they may see, and know, and consider, and understand together, that the hand of the LORD hath done this, and the Holy One of Israel hath created it” (Isaiah 41:17-20).

This almost needs no comment. And as I read it, my heart filled with wonder, with a sorrowful sort of joy.

I don’t know where this wilderness will take me. I can’t see the thorns in the path.

But I do know, that in my need, the Lord will open fountains in the desert. He will perform a miracle to aid me on my journey.

He will walk with me, holding my hand. He will be there, even if no one is.

And He will do this that everyone who sees my life may know that He is God in heaven, and that He is a God of love.

I've been sitting on the porch for a little while, working on a blog post and talking with family members. I was enjoying my peace when a gaggle of little girls popped over the rim of the hill. 

They came running pell-mell to the stairs, and bestowed me with the biggest bouquet I've ever received for anything, and then told me they needed band-aids. I didn't really feel like getting up, but no one else is home. 

Grab the basket, fix a few minor problems and tell them ten times that certain things aren't really a problem. It's an old routine.

Before they all leave, one by one, they attack me with hugs. Off they go...

And  then one little one comes back. She's fairly new--just became a dorm student recently. She comes back, throws her arms around me and hugs me like there's no tomorrow...and then plants a kiss on my cheek.

Another little one was watching, and as she watched me accept the kiss with a smile, her eyes lit up. she came running back and hugged me, and almost timidly kissed my cheek as well. They ran off, calling back, "Ti lah tha lah kee!" (See you later!)

I'm sitting on the porch again. My cheek is still warm.

Less than four weeks left. Less than four weeks....and I may never experience such a thing again.

My heart grows heavy in an instant, but then takes courage again.

Whatever happens to me, I know that the watching world, in some way, will benefit from it, if I go through it with dignity, love, patience, and trust. 

And no matter how hard to leave, how hard to go, it will all be for the best in the end.

God help me. For I can do nothing of myself.

And God help me. For I can do no other.