Usually I am not one at a loss for words.
Lately, I’ve run out.
These days, I feel like a desert-dweller.
I’ve cried out to God until I’m hoarse, and my spirit seems shriveled.
(Image found here)
Desert seasons originate from lots of different places.
Some of them God appoints for us.
Some we extend unnecessarily by our disobedience.
This one, I think, is a waiting season, one God sees and speaks into softly.
A friend praying for me yesterday used those words, “desert season,” and I marveled at His goodness to give her the very phrase that I was sensing.
Another friend inadvertently gave me my memory verse for early May:
It was good for me to be afflicted,
so that I might learn Your decrees.
The law from Your mouth is more precious to me
than thousands of pieces of silver and gold.
I have no plans to hang out in my desert for long,
put up a pup-tent,
While I’m praying for a short season, I know it will have been good for me to be here.
He will call me out of it with lots to say,
and He will have been worth it.