That statement is written in purple ink on a weathered post-it note in my Bible. Weathered because it's been there for at least 4 years. The thing about walking in the wilderness is sometimes, you get caught up in the simplistic nature of the beauty of it. I guess that could also depend on your image of wilderness. Wilderness could be thick, tall oaks that beckon you to use their broad trunks as back rests after a long hike. Trickling streams of fresh water flowing steady underneath a log, welcoming you to tight-rope walk across it. To the bush of fresh berries. Under a canopy of branches that lie just so that the rays of sunshine seemingly fall through to warm the ground beneath your feet.
Which are covered in mud. Caked on your hiking boots and long socks. Sounds delighful. And I'm not even a nature-outdoorsy kind of person. But I wouldn't mind that! Which is precisely my point. Sometimes it's pretty! And I've walked thru my own wildernesses. But I'm inclined to believe that this time, I'm walking out of one. At least out of a dreadful one. The kind of wilderness that has the alter-ego of the one I just described. More like a swamp. Or a desert. Where the sun is too hot. The ground is too uneven. The broad tree trunks are instead cacti. You're weathered. Dry lips that crack. Mouth that is like cotton. Feet that are raw and blistered. Knees that are weak. And a heart that is one beat away from giving up. Yea. Sounds a little less delightful. But I've been there. I've been weathered. And in those times, though in my mind I could agree with the statement I have written on that post-it note (choosing to see His goodness thru my wilderness), my heart would remind me just where my vision was. It was t on His goodness. It was totally fixated on the desert. My wilderness. My aloneness. My fatigue. My lack. My striving. My anger. My hurt. So much so that not only did I consciously choose to NOT see His goodness, but I chose to not see Him at all. It was easier just to shut Him out. Rather than open my heart and share what was trapped inside of it. Now, looking back on my wilderness, it's easier to see that I'm coming away from it. Walking to the clearing. The gaping stretch of open land before me is like a hug that i try to give back when I stretch my arms out in a wingspan kind of way. And I could never wrap my arms around a clearing so great. As I picture it now, walking out of, first a desert, then a huge forest, I can even feel the relief of coming up to a clearing so great. I've been lost in the woods before. And when the trails start to not look familiar, panic sets in. And you realize you're lost. Swallowed up in a great wilderness. But when I finally found my way, and I recognized the clearing ahead of me, I ran. And I felt safe once again. This time, I am choosing to see His goodness thru my wilderness.
That statement is written in purple ink on a weathered post-it note in my Bible. Weathered because it's been there for at least 4 years. The thing about walking in the wilderness is sometimes, you get caught up in the simplistic nature of the beauty of it. I guess that could also depend on your image of wilderness. Wilderness could be thick, tall oaks that beckon you to use their broad trunks as back rests after a long hike. Trickling streams of fresh water flowing steady underneath a log, welcoming you to tight-rope walk across it. To the bush of fresh berries. Under a canopy of branches that lie just so that the rays of sunshine seemingly fall through to warm the ground beneath your feet. 
Which are covered in mud. Caked on your hiking boots and long socks. Sounds delighful. And I'm not even a nature-outdoorsy kind of person. But I wouldn't mind that! Which is precisely my point. Sometimes it's pretty! And I've walked thru my own wildernesses. But I'm inclined to believe that this time, I'm walking out of one. At least out of a dreadful one. The kind of wilderness that has the alter-ego of the one I just described. More like a swamp. Or a desert. Where the sun is too hot. The ground is too uneven. The broad tree trunks are instead cacti. You're weathered. Dry lips that crack. Mouth that is like cotton. Feet that are raw and blistered. Knees that are weak. And a heart that is one beat away from giving up. Yea. Sounds a little less delightful. But I've been there. I've been weathered. And in those times, though in my mind I could agree with the statement I have written on that post-it note (choosing to see His goodness thru my wilderness), my heart would remind me just where my vision was. It was t on His goodness. It was totally fixated on the desert. My wilderness. My aloneness. My fatigue. My lack. My striving. My anger. My hurt. So much so that not only did I consciously choose to NOT see His goodness, but I chose to not see Him at all. It was easier just to shut Him out. Rather than open my heart and share what was trapped inside of it. Now, looking back on my wilderness, it's easier to see that I'm coming away from it. Walking to the clearing. The gaping stretch of open land before me is like a hug that i try to give back when I stretch my arms out in a wingspan kind of way. And I could never wrap my arms around a clearing so great. As I picture it now, walking out of, first a desert, then a huge forest, I can even feel the relief of coming up to a clearing so great. I've been lost in the woods before. And when the trails start to not look familiar, panic sets in. And you realize you're lost. Swallowed up in a great wilderness. But when I finally found my way, and I recognized the clearing ahead of me, I ran. And I felt safe once again. This time, I am choosing to see His goodness thru my wilderness. 
I finally had the time to sit and read this and actually give it my full attention. I think, no, I know, this applied to me in more than one way. I certainly appreciated the description of the wilderness and the beauty of it but I also recognized the wilderness as something that is at times beyond words. To look back I can see places where there were just enough downhills to give some reprieve and places where there is a little bit of water that keeps you alive long enough to make it a bit farther. I'm loving watching the life that continued walking, you are amazing, and I am encouraged and blessed.
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