From Dry Land

I have attempted to write a post for three days. I have written two others in which I meandered to such an extent that I couldn’t even remember my point. I have struggled to generate and create. I have struggled. It is a season of struggle.

A medical procedure. 

A pain-filled recovery.

A harsh verbal attack from a man with a significant distaste for God and His followers.

His impact lingers still. 

A virus turned bronchial infection.

Travel and fatigue. 

A hard 2020.

My body and my heart have not yet found their way out of this dry, lifeless land. From past experience, I know that I do not know how long this season will last or the way out. I can only lean into my questions, be present to my heart, be willing to thirst and ask God to open my eyes to see Him here. May He pour into me the grace to remain present in the fellowship of His sufferings.

I attempted to generate something artful, an offering of anything. Ecclesiastes comes to mind, “There is a time to be silent, and a time to speak.” I’m beginning to discover that this is a time of silence.

I asked myself this morning, “What feels most alive in me?” I like to write out of that space in my soul. 

“Nothing,” I replied to myself, “It all feels like dust.” 

I am still weathering the aftershocks from the God-hating man’s blows. My body feels worn. 2020 felt long. My soul needs care. I had visions for a blog series about the soul. One day, but not today. To be authentic, I will offer you these dry crumbs and an invitation to be with me in this desert. Perhaps you are in a dry land, too. If you’re not, there will be a time when you are. For the dry land co-journeyer, I offer you one of my favorite poems which is like a mouthful of nourishing manna in the wilderness.

I wrestle to rest in this place. To believe that I’m still on pilgrimage. To believe that I am right where my Father wants me. I keep choosing to believe.

I receive this dry land. I trust that the everlasting arms of the Trinity are still enfolding me, and are still a comfort. And perhaps, there is something about this landscape that will open me to their embrace in a different way than if I were energetically exploring lush landscapes.

Thou who created the world

with a word,

hear me:

When I am hungering

for a language I have not found,

when I am thirsting 

for phrases yet to be born,

when the words I have uttered 

become dust in my mouth,

quiet me

to hear you

speaking the words

that will create the world again.

—Jan Richardson, In Wisdom’s Path