Waiting in the wilderness

“After the Harvest “ 2015

The Waiting Room

June 25, 2025

Tears roll quietly down my cheeks even though I wish them to stop.  Once again, I’m sitting in a surgical waiting room—waiting while the doctor explores an infection in JD’s stump, revealed on an  MRI.

Last night was hard. JD barely slept. The pain was fierce. And the anxiety? It was worse than ever. I think he’s come to terms with the possibility that he may never walk again. But what he longs for most is stability: No more infection.  No more complications. No more surgeries. No more pain.

We are tired.  Weary of waiting.  Weary of uncertainty.

Yes, I trust Jesus and follow Him. But I still wonder where He is taking us.

This wilderness season has lasted so very long. And the longer you stay in the wilderness, the more you realize—it can be lonely. So, I am thankful for all the friends and family who have supported us with food, prayer, and encouraging words.

It’s dangerous! There are  “wild animals” roaming around out to destroy me! ”Pain” eats away at my hope. “Fear” circles like a predator. “Sorrow” drains my strength. “Anxiety” takes me captive.

So I stay alert. I stay close to Jesus because He’s been here before. And I am certain (Okay, maybe not always) that He knows the way through.

It feels like life is on hold. So many things I love to do, like painting, walking together, and discovering new places, must be put on hold or canceled indefinitely.

I get stir-crazy in these hospital rooms. I'm tired of sitting for hours at a time waiting.

But I don’t want to miss God—not even for a day. My daily conversations with Him are my lifeline now.  They tether my soul to peace. I keep asking Him to whisper in my heart what he wants to say to me. And I hold my pen ready to record what He says. In stillness, I hear His voice:

“Enjoy the winters of your life instead of longing for spring. Trust Me in the wilderness—especially when nothing is happening.

“Learn from your wanderings in the wilderness. Don’t keep looking for the way out; stay in the desert and trust me. I will feed you so that you can lead others to water and food. Find rest and enjoy the wilderness, especially now.

“Praise me for all I have provided for you today and the plenty I will serve you in the future.

“I am planting seeds that will bear a hundredfold harvest.

“You will not die here. I am with you.”

“Be overwhelmed by My presence, not by the ‘weight’ inside you, while waiting for the lab results.”

This question keeps pressing on my heart:

How much space will I create in my day to let God teach, guide, and speak to me?

Life feels like a long, uncharted wilderness, probably because I keep looking for the destination -- when God asks me to focus on the journey. And here’s the beautiful surprise:

God’s presence is not absent just because answers are.

I see that He asks me to be still. Put my pen down and breathe. Know, really know, that He is present. He is still speaking, and what He says is worth everything.

This desert has taught me some things I would’ve missed in comfort:

-It’s a waste of time to keep searching for the exit.

-There’s so much to glean if I stay present.

-It helps to ask: What in this wilderness am I thankful for? And write it down.

-I need to listen closely and ask:

-Who is speaking? Because my voice is often anxious, scattered, and critical.

The enemy’s voice is accusatory and condemning. But God’s voice? God speaks in gentle whispers—full of love and compassion.  So I ask:  Is it me?  Is it the enemy?  Or is it You, God?

“Lord, what else do you want to say to me as I wait?” And I sensed Him reply:

“Praise Me for the miracles still to come in this wilderness. There is a feast for suffering—and My table is full of grace, mercy, and love.”

So I began to list the miracles: every answered prayer, every small mercy, every moment of peace in the middle of chaos, every bit of laughter, every glimpse of His presence, and all the amazing things He will do in the future.

And then, because it’s part of my rhythm, I opened my daily devotional. That day’s verse was Psalm 78:52 53a, 72 (NLT):

“He led His own people like a flock of sheep, guiding them safely through the wilderness.  He kept them safe, so they were not afraid…He cared for them with a true heart and led them with skilled hands.”

And once again, tears fell, but this time, they were tears of joy and wonder. Because somehow, He constantly shows up at just the right time with the most tender words.

I envision the wilderness as a barren land. Maybe it isn’t meant to weaken, but strengthen. Perhaps it’s intended, to become a holy place that gives life. A place of abundance, to be transformed and to thrive. A region of harvest, depicted by my painting. If so, God;

Let it shape me, not destroy me.

Let it quiet my soul, not silence my hope.

Let it teach me that God is here—

In every whisper.

In every tear.

And because He is here,

I am safe.

Even in the wilderness, while I wait.