Led to the Desert

Every night at bedtime my daughter Providence asks me, “Do we know what we’re doing yet? Are we moving? Are we staying? Has Daddy found a new job?” Every night I sigh deeply and say, “We don’t know any of that yet but don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.” Since my husband resigned from his job we have been in a holding pattern as a family.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the story of the Israelites, freed from slavery only to be held in a holding pattern in the desert for forty long years. There are many examples in the Bible of waiting on the Lord but in my opinion, none are as intense as what we see in Exodus. It all started with a reluctant leader, Moses.

I have a theory about why God spoke to Moses through a burning bush instead of using a more subtle tactic. I bet if God had whispered to Moses in a dream, or spoken through a friend’s sage wisdom, Moses would have talked himself out of the whole, “Go tell Pharoah to let my people go” ordeal. After all, Moses didn’t exactly exude confidence in God’s request. Even when it came to him through an audible voice from a bush that was on fire but didn’t burn up, Moses dared to question the authenticity of God’s words (Exodus 3-4:17). Sometimes it’s hard to discern God’s voice over the voices of our fears or desires or the voice of the world, and if Moses couldn’t do it through the most miraculous of communication, how can we?

We see this same struggle in the Israelites later on in the story. Moses arrives in Egypt and tells the slaves about God’s plan to free them. They believe and worship, but things get worse before they get better. Pharaoh doubles their workload and drives them harder than ever before. Understandably, they start to doubt Moses (Exodus 5). If I’m being honest, I would have too. I would have questioned the authenticity of God’s message through Moses because my circumstances weren’t changing for the good, and if God wanted to free me, why wasn’t I freed yet? Finally, even after God smote the Egyptians with ten different plagues and delivered the Israelites from the hands of Pharoah by way of parting the Red Sea, (clear signs if I ever saw them), they were complaining by day three! Their freedom wasn’t all they hoped it would be. By the second month, they were getting hungry, wondering why they ever left Egypt (or slavery) in the first place. And on and on it went for forty long years.

Oh, how I resonate with the plight of Moses and his people. You see, I know without a doubt that stepping away from pastoral ministry was the right move for my husband and our family. We prayed and agonized over that decision for months. I know we sought wisdom and Godly counsel, but like Moses, we questioned God’s voice. Our response to Him went something like, “Are you sure that’s the best thing for us? I don’t know if we can handle that kind of change. We’ve obeyed you before but this is a bit extreme, don’t ya think? What will we do? Where will we go?” Still, in faith we trusted Him. We reluctantly took His hand and followed Him.

God led us out, away from what was hard but so familiar, and into this desert we now find ourselves in. It’s tempting to wonder if we made a mistake. It’s tempting to look back and grieve the loss of our financial security, our community, and our comfort zone. The enemy would have us ask if we did the right thing, if we really followed God, or if we followed our emotions. Every time a door closes on a new job opportunity, we want to grumble and complain. Like the Israelites, we say, “Ugh, God, there’s no clean water out here! And there’s no food either! Didn’t you promise us freedom?! How can we enjoy our freedom when we’re hungry and thirsty? How long do you expect us to do this?! YOU led us here for THIS?” God’s been pretty quiet on His end, and we’re starting to get restless. Holding patterns are anything but easy. They test our patience and our resolve.

But I left out two very important parts of my Exodus synopsis. It’s true, that there was no clean water in the desert God had led the Israelites to. Until there was (Exodus 15:22-25). And it’s true, there was no food for them to eat. Until there was (Exodus 16:1-16). You see, God showed up in the desert too. He may have fallen silent but He was always present. He provided a way out of slavery and He provided for them in freedom. He drew water from a stick of wood and rained bread down from the sky. He didn’t lead them out there to die. He led them out there to live. Author of the book, Prevail, Susie Larson puts it this way, “God leads us into the desert- not to dismiss us, but to deliver us.”

Holding patterns don’t always occur in the desert. Jonah’s was in the belly of a giant fish. (Suddenly the desert doesn’t seem so bad, does it?) But no matter where they happen, we can be sure of one thing; we won’t stay there forever. We also won’t leave there unchanged. Larson continues, “God does his best work in our desert seasons. He reminds us that we’re not what we do, we’re someone he loves. The desert is the place where we break unhealthy attachments to the things of this world- even attachments to ministry roles that have taken up residence in our sense of identity and value. We need the desert seasons because we need continual reminders that first and foremost, we’re made for Him.” For the Israelites the desert reminded them they were not just slaves, they were God’s chosen people. For me and my husband, the desert is reminding us we are more than just a pastor and pastor’s wife.

We are being asked to reside and be still in the faith we’ve spoken of so frequently. We are well outside our comfort zone, struggling with our identity outside of church walls. But we know it was God’s voice that led us here, and it will be His voice that leads us out. Hosea 2:1-15 says, “Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her there. There I will give her back her vineyards and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will respond as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt.” I love this sweet reminder that rough, dry terrain like the wilderness can simultaneously hold the tender voice of God. I love that a place called the Valley of Achor (meaning “trouble”) can also be a door of hope. I love that it was God who allured us here; we were not forced but led.

I still don’t have answers to my daughter’s questions, but I do know we have everything we need for today. I know God is with us in the desert for this indefinite amount of time. He’s given me no reason to doubt Him. We don’t have a plan because we don’t have control. And, “as Christians, if we’ve lost control, we’re probably on the right track,” (Judith Couchman, The Shadow of His Hand).