"I will make you my wife forever, showing you righteousness and justice, unfailing love and compassion. I will be faithful to you and make you mine, and you will finally KNOW me as the Lord." (Hosea 2:19-20 NLT)
For several months now, I’ve been kicking around this idea of desert dwelling being good for the soul. The desert is the land we traipse through from the slavery of sin to the complete sanctification of the Promised Land. In the desert we are stripped of pretense. We survive the wilderness by our relationship with the living God; nothing less, nothing more. As I sit in this particular stretch, I’ve had a lot of time to ponder the internal debris. You may remember, a few weeks back I noted a drainage ditch after a storm, cleared out of water, able to see to the bottom and all the refuse therein. This season feels like that empty ditch and Peter Scazzero continues to challenge me; we must go backwards to go forward.
Most recently, I shared the four kinds of confession, the inner orientation being the most difficult excavation. I’m unearthing my own heathen leanings in this season of scant. A recent conversation with our school counselor really brought the issue under the Holy Spirit’s searchlight. She was sharing about some of our students and resource insecurity in their homes. Her phrase braised my spirit like sweet on a sore tooth. Resource insecurity.
My childhood was feast or famine. The fridge was either chock-full or vacuously empty; depending on the distance from payday. Braces were too expensive, but still another collector car was carted home from across the country. Common household items such as paper towels and shaving cream were considered extravagant, but Sunday donuts and payday pizza were staples.
Unfortunately, I’ve carried this resource scarcity mindset into adulthood. Almost forty years in a parsonage has not thrust me toward trusting God for my needs. Instead I squirrel away, plan ahead and solve my own problems. It’s only been in this most recent stretch of thin that I have become aware of my continuous wrestle with trust for most basic needs. My inner orientation has been off all these decades. I’ve been relying myself when I should have been relying on God.
This season of barrenness is all about building intimacy. I’m learning to lean in to God alone to provide and protect. I am beginning to KNOW Him, not just know of Him.
The Bible Project cites the Hebrew for this word know; it’s yada. Yada is the difference between cerebral comprehension and relational knowledge. We can know of something without having actually experienced it. We can know of God, intellectually, but still not know Him intimately.
I think of my fifth graders, the babies on campus. They have no life experience. Zero. Nada. Zilch. (Their clueless condition has certainly exasperated by the pandemic!) Five days a week, we attempt to teach these kiddos history, but it’s like paint spattered against a blank wall. They have no context to tie it to. For them, 1983 is as far away as 1621. Literally, one of them asked me if I came over on the Mayflower since I was from the 1900’s! So much of our limited time in social studies is spent trying to ground the information we are presenting. It’s a little like explaining the internet to an ant. These babies have not lived or seen enough to have any background knowledge to bring to the table.
I think it’s a little like that with us and God. We can read His word and acquire knowledge but all the study in the world will never accomplish what an encounter can attain in a moment. Our comprehension will always lag apart from His presence.
In His infinite mercy, God pulls us into desert spaces. He tugs us toward these stretches of life where we can experience Him in profound ways. Like honeymooners learning to love one another; it’s these set apart places where we acquaint ourselves with God’s vast compassion and commitment to us. We are wowed by what we find.
Rebellious hearts resist. Surrendered hearts submit. God leads us into desert stretches so we can learn to trust Him completely. Let’s not hate the process; let’s lean in and learn His love firsthand.
"I will show love to those I called 'Not loved.' And to those I called 'Not my people,' I will say 'Now you are my people.' And they will reply, 'You are our God!'" (Hosea 2:23 NLT)
Lord, forgive us for fighting against desert stretches. We think we know better but we have experienced You in such finite ways. Today we see these dusty seasons as opportunities; appointed times to spend with You. Let us delight in these moments, despite their dire nature. We are newly convinced of Your nearness; ready and eager to know You more. Amen.