out of the desert.

 {photo via Bippity Boppity Boo}

This has been a difficult spiritual season for me. 

The details are not important, but they have resulted in a stale, stagnant faith, a faith I barely recognize. 

My Bible often goes untouched throughout the week. My heart is cold in worship, heavy with hurt and leftover pain. 

This struggle has been personal, but the spiritual journey we take is also communal, and so my friends, family, and the body I worship with each week have felt the effects of this season. 

It is worth noting: There have been bright spots, high moments atop the mountain. There have been gifts and blessings and prayers and moments in which I have felt finally back in tune with the One who created me. 

But there have still been questions. Stomachaches. Tears. 

And I am trying desperately to turn a corner. 

I am using these last two months of 2011 to evaluate, to identify what exactly the burden has been during my time in this spiritual desert. 

I want to know if it is possible for it to be removed, if I am finally reaching the edge, if water is near. 

There are practical steps to be taken. 

I must pursue community, not just by throwing party after party, but by being a friend. By feeding those I love and those who need a meal. By calling when I say I’ll call. By letting some things slide, by protecting my feelings and giving the benefit of the doubt to my brothers and sisters. Mostly, by putting myself in the other person’s shoes. 

I must repair my church relationship. I don’t know how that is going to look. I don’t know if that will mean pursuing community and worship and fellowship elsewhere. Instead, I just know it needs to mean forgiveness. True forgiveness, the kind that doesn’t turn back, but instead marches forward. 

I must learn to say no to the things I cannot do and say yes to the things the Spirit is calling me to. Often, I have given my yeses too freely, and the result has been a burnt-out, bedraggled mess. People become disappointed; the emails and phone calls and details become overwhelming, and I wind up doing absolutely nothing. That must change.

I must accept and bestow grace. I must see people — even the people who have hurt my heart or stomped on my feelings or spewed sarcasm my direction — as Jesus sees them. I must remind myself that once, so was I. That I have been mean, too. That I say things I shouldn’t say, too. That we are all in utter, desperate need of a Savior. 

I must renew my love for the Spirit and for His Word. I am a rule-follower, a good girl who has read her “Bible through the year” enough times to know it is possible. But I don’t want to just read the Bible through the year because it is my resolution, because it is some rule I cannot break. I do not want this to turn into some panicked, legalistic pursuit in which I am, yet again, disappointed. Instead I want to study and pour over His words because I need to. Because His words offer both the mysteries and the answers I need to be reminded of. I want to surround myself with people who are not afraid of the questions, who seek Scripture not for their truth, but for His. I want Bible study with like-minded people, but people who are different enough to challenge me and help me grow. 

I must not be afraid to acknowledge my weakness, to accept moments of rest. I must listen to the voice inside that whispers: It is time for quiet, for stepping back, for resting in Me.

This life is not meant to be spent entirely in the high places. The deserts, the valleys, the lowest of lows are His, too. 

Almost exactly a year ago, I let the words of a fellow believer tear my heart to bits. I ignored the words, joked about them, and they festered into a wound that has been difficult to heal. 

Like most wounds, this one was forgettable most days. But some days, the pain would become unbearable. Others who didn’t know or understand the hurt would accidentally rip the Band-Aid off, and the wound would become exposed again. 

It has been this unbelievably exhausting process, this healing. 

Lately, though, I have noticed a difference. Less bitterness. Less anger. 

But I am concerned, because I have also noticed indifference. Apathy. Casual shrugs of the shoulder. 

I think sometimes, we think healing means we stop feeling. We associate becoming better with passivity. 

I don’t want to be passive. I don’t want to hide my gifts under bushels or my let my opinions rest quietly on my tongue. 

I want to speak slowly and thoughtfully, yes. I want to give the gift of life and teaching purposefully and intentionally. 

In other words, I want to be me again, but this time, better. 

Not perfect. But better. 

I want to come out of this desert renewed and rejuvenated, ready to breathe in fresh air and take in the water as if I’ve never drunk it before. I want to have learned something from this seasonal dry spell. 

For now, I am resting. I want to return back to the One who made me whole and ask for His help in restoring me, in renewing my passions and my faith. 

Soon, it will be time to come out of the desert. Time to take a deep breath, and press on. 

I want to be ready.