Hello. I know it’s been a while, and I know I start most blog posts that way. I guess it is what it is. Today I was looking through my photos, and never has a place so resonated with a season that I’ve been in. I am definitely in a DESERT season.

Ever been there? Yikes. It’s harsh, dangerous and beautiful.

Something major happened to me in 2020 that wasn’t Covid. I know, shocking that something could exist outside of the all consuming germ obsession of 2020.

I observed something and my eyes were opened to a thing (well, many things) I still wish I wouldn’t have seen. It was the beginning of a journey into a desert place. A wilderness where disillusionment became my constant companion.

Ohhhh disillusionment, it’s a dark thing. It’s also a confusing thing. Confusing because I loved the thing that I no longer trusted. Never in my life have I been more secure in my identity, and thankfully so, because partnered with my disillusionment has been deep sorrow and doubt, and questioning.

What I’m learning is disillusionment is a vehicle into grief, and grief is a process. Sometimes it’s quick, and sometimes it’s slow and painful. This companion of mine has lowered me into a stark and lonely place, where all that glitters is a mirage.

It’s meant to be lonely I think, so I turn to the only One who has the answers for all of the questions I’ve suddenly developed.

I’ve wanted people to join me in my disillusionment and sorrow. I wanted them to answer my questions, to dissolve my doubt, and fix my sudden feelings of loss with their companionship. I’ve warred with myself and God about holding it close when I want to split the desert sky wide with illuminating light.

See what I see! Feel what I feel! Know what I know! And Tell me I’m not crazy.

It’s ugly.

I haven’t always gotten it right in this wilderness training ground, and that grieves me too. I’ve allowed healthy skepticism to tip toe close to cynicism. I’ve given bitterness room to grow a root, and apathy has thrown its arm around my shoulder urging me to sit down and stop caring.

But in the grief and the wilderness, God has been a constant companion. I have not been alone or as lonely as I feel. Even when I’ve allowed a space to gather between us, and I blamed Him for my hopelessness and loss, closer He came.

When I rail and hold my fist up, shouting my disdain for those who have broken my trust and thrust me into this deserted place, He has remained tender with my broken heart.

I’m learning.

It’s not over, and I don’t know what’s on the other side of my desert wandering. I don’t know. I don’t know, SO MUCH. I do know as this stripping of all of the things that provide a false hope and security continues, clarity will eventually take the place of disillusionment.

Desert seasons are meant to refine us for promised lands.

That’s the hope here. Wilderness prep for promised land.

I don’t know, friend, what type of season you’re coming out of, you’re in, or heading in to but I’ll tell you two things I’m clinging to in my wilderness, where my thirst feels unending:

“He turns a wilderness into pools of water, And dry land into watersprings.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭107‬:‭35‬ ‭NKJV‬‬

“For I will pour water on him who is thirsty, And floods on the dry ground; I will pour My Spirit on your descendants, And My blessing on your offspring;”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭44‬:‭3‬ ‭NKJV‬‬

The One who promised, will see you through.