Alone in the Desert

My sister once told me that when she speaks to God, she envisions herself in the middle of a vast, barren desert. Sand and sky as far as the eye can see. Maybe a burning, holy wind. But no sounds. Nowhere to run. No cover from the blinding sun. It is just her, alone in the desert with the Most High.

That was the most profound image I took out of my childhood, and I think about it almost every day. I, too, have come to see the meeting of God-and-human as occurring in a desert. When I was young, the only deserts I had seen were in picture books, so I  began to create my own desert meeting-place in my mind. It was wide and welcoming, unknown but not unkind. It bore His stamp of dominion, and I was always safe there. Since then, I have seen real deserts. They are wild, unsettling. There is an ancient lava flow not far from my cottage. Jagged rivers of hardened magma glitter and dare onlookers to try crossing. No one does. The rocks are too sharp, the terrain too fierce, the risks too great. So they stand back and take pictures.

A desert is a place in which it is good--no, essential--to have a faithful companion upon whom to depend for survival. Someone who knows that there is a shaded cleft here, a hidden spring there, and a clump of edible herbs just beyond. Someone who packed provisions, who shares. Someone who knew it would be so cold at night, and brought shelter. Someone who stays awake to keep harm at bay.

I have read many (nearly all) of the western stories by the great storyteller Louis L'Amour. Some of his tales were placed within a few miles of where I am living. He knew the harshness of the desert, how it swallows, hides, and never gives back. But he also saw its haunting beauty, and he loved it.

Perhaps the imaginary desert of my childhood,  that secret place where I met God, was a kind of metaphor for His attributes which I could not identify, yet I sensed their presence and shape. It was vast; He is infinite. It was strange and unknown; He is mystery. It was safe and welcoming; He is a haven of rest. It was also fierce and relentless; He is righteous and reigns on high. I was helpless and needy there; He is near to all who call upon Him. It was hot and blinding; He is holy and pure. There are more parallels than there is time to list.

Perhaps I am not so wise after all these years. I still meet Him there, in the desert that exists only in my soul, and it seems little has changed. I am still utterly dependent on Him. My sinful self is still loathe to enter into that bright, searing heat and feel the burn of His righteous gaze. I am still alone in the desert with the Most High.

May it ever be so.

After Captivity, the Lions' Den

From an email to the girls, as I start the book of Daniel.
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Today I read from Daniel 1-6.

In the third year of the reign of Jehoiakim king of Judah, Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came to Jerusalem and besieged it. ² And the Lord gave Jehoiakim king of Judah into his hand . . . [and he brought out] some of the people of Israel . . . ⁴ youths without blemish, of good appearance and skillful in all wisdom, endowed with knowledge, understanding learning, and competent to stand in the king's palace . . . ⁶ Among these were Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah of the tribe of Judah.

But Daniel resolved that he would not defile himself with the king's food, or with the wine that he drank. Therefore he asked the chief of the eunuchs to allow him not to defile himself. ⁹ And God gave Daniel favor and compassion in the sight of the chief of the eunuchs,

¹⁷ As for these four youths, God gave them learning and skill in all literature and wisdom, and Daniel had understanding in all visions and dreams.

Daniel and his companions were likely around your age when their world was turned upside down and they were captured and deported to a foreign pagan country. Imagine their despair. God had turned over their nation to the Babylonians. The Lord himself had turned away his face from Israel and ignored the cries of these terrified young men who were chained and taken away from the only world they had ever known. They surely had fathers, siblings, and dear friends who had been slaughtered or captured as well. They were afraid, stricken with grief, and facing a future of complete unknowns.

You and I will probably not face a trial of this scale in our lifetimes. These young men either already knew--or soon learned--that God often allows terrible tragedies to occur that he might make his power and glory manifest through the difficult circumstances. He does not send the evil happenings--all bad things are caused by sin and the devil's global agenda of destruction--but God does turn such chaos into order and glory. He uses the pain as a refining fire. He uses the fear as a means to grow an iron-strong faith and dependency on his provision and providential will.

You will face difficult times. It is inevitable in this world. No one passes through without scars of one kind or another, without the marks of a lifelong struggle with sin and death. But, as a favorite author of mine says when writing on evil and suffering and the love of God [and this is not an exact quote], "God is not so much concerned as to what exactly the difficult thing is that you are going through; His concern is how you are going through it, what you are learning, what truths your heart is drinking in, what falsehoods it is purging out, what sins you are crucifying, what God you are faithfully trusting, and how you will come out of the fiery trial of testing."

Daniel was in Babylon. You are in your homes, here in a modern country, thousands of years after Daniel's life. But take both a sober warning and a joyous hope from Daniel's life--the dark days will come, and they may last longer than you think you can bear, but like Daniel, you can keep your vision narrowed on the Lord and constantly cast your weary soul before him. After the captivity may come the lions' den. But the end of the saints who persevere is a glorious crown of righteousness, and not only a heavenly reward, but even here below, a sense of joy and contentment, because this life is viewed in its proper place on the timeline of eternity: small and fleeting, but paving the way to the fulfillment of all hope.

Goodnight, sweet girls!