Musings in the desert

In the desert place I cried. I waited, sure I would be rescued, sure my Father would come. But he hadn't. Not yet...

In the desert place, the refining fire burnt away my tender green leaves that so hopefully grew up to the sky, testifying of the goodness of previous rain. But with no more rain and only whispers of the promise that rain would come, I withered and the life grew quiet in this harsh and unforgiving place. In my silence, I grew hardy. I grew strong. But I also grew angry. So very, very angry. It was not deserved all this loss, suffering, being overlooked, being scorned, being shamed0, but then, neither is goodness deserved. Yet, I can't help but feel like I have become deeper too in this quiet place, like the slashing of my bark, of my pride and who I was, has somehow opened me up to release the fragrant gum of myrrh. Yes, I have become a hardy tree in this desert place, tempered and strong. Finding water with roots that have set deep. Roots that drove through hard, barren ground, uncertain it would find anything, questioning if there was anything, but without trying would die for certain. Now I can pour out healing from my own brokenness.

Hurting in unimaginable ways I wrote. In secret places I poured out the screams of despair that remained unheard. I am not certain I will share those cries on a platform so public, but I can share the results of those cries.

I understand why Atheists do not believe, I do not judge their unbelief. I cannot take credit for my faith. All I have is the hope I hold onto, and my hope lies in Him. Softly, softly, He sends me reassurance that I am not forgotten. That this is not the end. That this is not life as it will remain. He reminds me that beneath the dust of this desert is the face of a daughter of the King and that my worth has not diminished in His eyes.

Love you Father. For You I wait.