One Friday last month, in The Sanctuary, our topic of discussion was ‘When the Desert Meets the Mountain’. In that discussion we covered those times when God allows us to be in the desert. Our time spent in the desert may be the result of decisions that we made in our lives or they may be in preparation for something that God needs us to do in the lives of others. Whatever the reason, however long the duration, God will never allow us to undergo such desolate conditions without a source of comfort.
Isaiah 51:3 says: For the Lord shall comfort Zion: he will comfort all her waste places; and he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody.
I know this to be true. In my natural, physical state of barrenness, God was there to comfort me.
There were times when I tried to get pregnant and couldn’t, with no explanation of any natural condition. No blockage, no absence of ovulation. No diagnosis of a hostile womb. There was nothing naturally wrong.
Then there were the times, at least four that I know of for sure, under the most unlikely natural circumstances, where life was conceived. Yes, God permitted life where life naturally should not have taken place, only to be lost prematurely and never carried to full term.
I was in the desert. I was a desert and I wanted someone to blame. I wanted to ask why. I wanted to question God. Others questioned my faith. I questioned my faith. During my recovery from the last miscarriage that I experienced, I went so far as to ask God why he would do this to me. Saying it out loud jarred me back to reality and I remembered that every good and perfect thing comes from God (James 1:17) and that He is faithful and will keep me from evil (2 Thessalonians 3:3). Well, weren’t my unborn children good and perfect blessings from God? Yes, they were. So, if God is faithful and would keep me from evil, how could the loss of my good and perfect thing be of God?
Yes, I was in the desert, a barren wasteland, and I may have been there by God’s permission, but He did not send me there. He did not give me a gift that I had long desired to snatch it away from me. God didn’t allow life to be created under miraculous circumstances only to say to me, His child, “No, on second thought, I don’t want you to have that.”
What God did say to me was this: Even in the most tumultuous set of natural circumstances, I am here. He told me to cast all my cares upon Him for He cares for me (1 Peter 5:7). He told me that when my days are dark, He will be a light unto me (Micah 7:8). He told me not to worry or to stress because He is with me wherever I go and whatever I go through (Joshua 1:9).
So now, we may ask, "Well why, as children of God do we have to go through these things? Why does God allow these things to happen to us if Jesus paid the ultimate price for our lives?"
The debt Jesus paid was to give us back what we lost when Adam and Eve sinned—our relationship with God; our opportunity to go to Him in prayer. We lost our lives the day Adam and Eve sinned (Romans 5:12) and Jesus gave it back to us.
That does not mean we will be able to go back to the Garden and stay there forever. Not yet. We have the opportunity, through Jesus, to access the Garden, but there are times when we will indeed be in the desert. The wonderfully awesome thing about God is He will never allow us to be in the desert without Him.
That is the loving, caring, faithful God that I know.
As you travel through your peaks and your valleys, please, don’t ask God why He has allowed the valley or the desert. As hard as it may be in that desert, God can be a lush shade tree and a giant waterfall in the midst of desolation if we believe that He can. He will build you up and strengthen you. Remember the saying, “Faith in the valley”? Yes, we find our faith, build our character and are strengthened and renewed in the low and desolate places of this natural life.
But, we need no not fear. Only believe. (Mark 5:36)
Be bold. Be brave. Believe.
Your Sister,
Veronica