Two summers ago, when travel was still fun and easy, Tony and I went to California. We began our trip by eating our way through San Francisco, and staring at the Gold Gate Bridge. Then, before wrapping our trip up in Sonoma, we camped in Big Sur.

We crossed Bixby Bridge. Pitched our tent in the middle of redwoods. And spent quite a few afternoons and evenings walking the gorgeous beaches. We saw the purple sand, and even spotted a few dolphins. But in the middle of it all, we noticed something strange:

Our hands felt different.

They were still smooth. Only when we went to clean them, it seemed like it was hard to wash all the soap off. We mentioned it to each other a few times before I finally realized,

Our hands were dry.

Not the cracked and bleeding kind of dry we experience here in the Northeast in the winter time. But rather the kind of dry your hands get in the desert. A conversation I had with a friend of mine who had lived in New Mexico came back to me. She had been home visiting friends and family in Pennsylvania and told me she couldn’t believe how different her hands felt as she was away from the desert climate.

As Tony and I were so focused on the trees and beaches of Big Sur, we’d forgotten that much of California is desert. And though, we had to pay for our showers, to limit how much water we used, we hadn’t made the connection that they were also coming out of a drought. We were in a much dryer climate than the humid one we’d left back home. Proving that,

Sometimes, you can be in the desert and not even know it.

Though I’ve never lived in a desert, I’ve thought a lot about deserts. Mostly because in the Bible and in Christian tradition, they are a prominent metaphor for difficult spiritual seasons believers find themselves in. Times when it seems God is absent. When it feels as if the Living Water Jesus promised, has run dry. 

The first time I found myself in such a season, I experienced many of my relationships, ministries, and activities come to an end. I was in college and a toxic situation with my roommates and the student council I was a part of—all led me to finding a new roommate, and resigning from my position. Soon after, leadership changes in the church where I volunteered, also lead me to step down. 

Emotionally, I felt stripped down.

Then in the middle of all of this upheaval, it felt as if God went silent. I no longer experienced His presence in worship. Prayer was difficult. I felt abandoned. 

If I hadn’t been surrounded by mentors further along in their journey than I was, who gave me language for my experience, I wouldn’t have known I was in the desert.

If I hadn’t been surrounded by mentors further along in their journey than I was, who gave me language for my experience, I wouldn’t have known I was in the desert. I wouldn’t have known that in the silence, God was actually inviting me into a deeper relationship with Him. I may have lost my faith altogether. 

This year, with COVID, for many of us the outer trappings of our lives have been stripped down. Our jobs, volunteer positions, community, and relationships have all looked different. Some have even been lost. And in the midst of all of this, it’s possible that in the very moment you were hoping God would draw you close, He’s felt absent. 

That is why friend, today I want to tell you, if this is where you are—you may be in the desert. If you are experiencing one of the hardest seasons of your life, and it feels as if God is nowhere to be found, He is still there. Only rather than rescue you, He is inviting you on a journey through a dry place, into a deeper knowing of both Him and yourself. 

If you are experiencing one of the hardest seasons of your life, and it feels as if God is nowhere to be found, He is still there.

Since that painful season in college, I have found myself in more desert seasons than I would have liked. Only each time, I’ve learned more about God—His love and goodness—and about myself and my place in this world, than I ever would have, had I not gone through the desert.

Friend, if your soul is feeling dry this season, take heart. You are not alone. There is hope. And there is a way to be found through this desert.

Are you in a desert season, friend?

Have you ever been through one before?

Is this something you would like me to talk more about?

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Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash