I woke up in the middle of the night with possibly the worst pain I have ever felt. I say “possibly” because my flare for the dramatic clearly made me forget childbirth altogether. But in that moment, I was positive that the massive canker sore on my bottom lip was causing more pain than anything else in my entire 30 years of living. I was, admittedly, in the throws of COVID and ill equipped to handle any additional discomfort. Regardless, the searing pain was enough to make it impossible to sleep and I was, frankly, angry.
Angry at the little darn sore, to be sure. Angry at COVID. Angry at my pillow. Angry at myself. And angry with God.
That’s okay to admit in this space, isn’t it? I know it’s been awhile since I’ve shown up here, but it’s still a safe place, right? I was unable to sleep and I was angry with God.
But not over the canker sore, if we’re being truly honest.
I was angry with Him because I knew shouldn’t be. I was angry because He felt so far from me, and I knew it was my fault, not His. But I was also angry because sometimes a relationship with an invisible God feels really hard, even if I know it’s me who is complicating it all.
Really, when I got down to it, I wasn’t angry with Him at all. I was tired. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually so gosh darn tired. It felt like I had been wandering in a desert for a long time and I was really, really thirsty.
So in the midst of possibly the worst pain of my life, that’s what I told God— “I’m so tired of wandering in a desert. Like the children of Israel, my desert state is probably my own doing, but I am tired of being stuck here, and I am thirsty.”
And in that moment, more clearly than I have ever sensed the voice of God, I heard the words, “Just take a drink.”
It wasn’t a new message, maybe that’s why in that moment I could hear it so well. God had been trying to tell me for a long time that I had been running, and He kept inviting me to stop.
“You aren’t in a desert. You can stop running. There is living water right within your reach, all you have to do is drink it.”
I broke.
Finally, I broke.
There in the middle of the night with my husband sleeping inches from me, I openly wept. Not tears of pain (although I was still in plenty), or tears of anger or frustration, but tears of relief, of refreshment.
Does it sound cheesy? Probably, and I’m okay with that. And it only gets more ooey-gooey from there. I’ll gloss over the details only because if we go too far down this trail, I’m not sure I can get us back on track to the point— But I prayed for healing and went from “possibly the worst pain I have ever felt” instantly to zero pain what-so-ever.
Why am I breaking my writing silence with this intimate story about my spiritual life? Because as I have started to meander out of my self-made desert, I can finally see that I was not the only one out there, despite how isolated it may have felt. In fact, now that I’m paying attention to someone other than myself, I can see that most people around me seem to be stuck in a desert of some sort as well.
Maybe you’re in a desert. Maybe you’ve been reading this, and you feel like I put a spotlight right on you. You’re why this prodigal writer has reappeared in front of her keyboard.
I don’t know why you feel so dry. Maybe you’re running from responsibility (ahem, welcome to the club). Maybe you’re scared. Maybe the weight of the world seems to be resting on your shoulders. Maybe you’ve fallen out of routine and don’t know how to get back. Maybe you’ve done something you think is unforgivable. Maybe you’re insecure. Maybe you don’t know how to ask for help. Maybe it’s just the collective trauma of what we’ve been going through over the last year. Maybe you feel alone. Maybe you’re mad at God. Maybe you’re in a new season and don’t know how to navigate it. Maybe you can’t even figure out why you’re so weary.
There’s a hundred more “maybes” I could come up with, but you know your own reason whether I list it or not. Friend, if you are thirsty, I am writing to remind you to just take a drink of living water.
It isn’t as complicated as we let ourselves believe.
Just drink.
Spend time in the presence of God, and ask Him to show you how. Read your Bible. Pray. Worship. Be obedient to whatever that nagging feeling you’ve been ignoring is asking you to do. Again, I can list a hundred things, but I’m pretty sure you know what you need to do, and have for awhile.
Don’t stay in a desert out of stubbornness, or apathy, or ignorance. God isn’t withholding from you.
We have access to water, we just have to remember to drink.