The Wilderness of Grief

 The Wilderness: When You Feel Lost

“He led you through the vast and dreadful wilderness, that thirsty and waterless land, with its venomous snakes and scorpions. He brought you water out of hard rock.”

—Deuteronomy 8:15

      Who doesn't love going on vacations to the beach?  I know that I do.  But I remember on one particular trip to Mrytle Beach when I got lost.  I was playing in the water near my parents when all of a sudden I looked behind me and they weren't there.  My parents didn't move but the current keep pushing me further and further away from them.  My parents could still see me, but I couldn't see them.  My first reaction was tears, my second reaction was screaming.  Within seconds my parents were right by my side, but for those few moments I felt so lost.  I felt like my world became a total wildernesss.

      When Tif went home to heaven my life instantly became a wilderness.  Scratch that, the moment that the doctor at the York Hosptial told us that she had a rare, advanced, and extremely agressive stage four cancer put me into the wilderness.  I had lost family previously to cancer, but this wasn't my grandparents in their elderly years, this was my wife who was in her mid 30's. The road I had walked so confidently before suddenly disappeared, swallowed by uncertainty. Grief is not a neatly marked trail; it is more like wandering in barren lands where every step feels heavy, and every direction looks the same.  The path that seemed so clear, so predictable, but I myself lost in a land that didn't have a map, and I didn't know who to ask for directions.  All road signs were gone.

      There are days when I feel like Israel in the desert—thirsty for meaning, hungry for comfort, and wondering if I will ever find my way again.  Imagine the thoughts that the Israelites felt during those forty years of wandering.  Some of them probably wandering if it was ever going to end.  They knew that God was faithfully leading them.  They could see His leadership, but that didn't negate their feelings or still their doubts.  They were at a junction of faith and fear.  In this wilderness, I don’t hear her voice guiding me, I don’t see the familiar markers of our shared life, and I don’t always sense God as clearly as I want to. The silence and emptiness echo loudly.  It's increible how emptiness can fill you.

      But God reminds me that even in the wilderness, He is present. He led His people by a pillar of cloud by day and fire by night. He brought water from a rock and manna from the sky. Though they often felt lost, they were never abandoned.  That thought penetrates my soul.  Feeling lost, adrift, but NEVER ABANDONED.  Never forsaken.

      One of the lessons that I've learned through grief’s wilderness is not God’s absence—it’s often His training ground. It’s in this dry place that I am forced to lean on Him in ways I never had to before.  Prior to Tif's passing I would have considered myself faithful, but the fiery trial of her cancer journey deepened my faith.  It also wore it thin.  There were moments when it felt I was at my breaking point. The wilderness strips away the illusion that I can manage life on my own. It presses me into a deeper dependence, a rawer faith, and a quieter hope.  Sometimes that quiet faith becomes a loud faith.

      If you, too, feel lost in the wilderness of grief, remember: being lost does not mean being forsaken. God is the One who makes streams in the desert (Isaiah 43:19). He is not lost, and because He is with us, we are not either.  In the fire He is present.  In the deep water He is present.  The wilderness of grief feels unending and overwhelming.  I'm not going to sugar coat it for you.  There isn't a magical receipe that takes the pain away or make it go away.  It's going to wear you out and tax you.  It will bring you to your breaking point.  I don’t always know where to go or how to keep walking. I need my guide when I cannot see the way.  I need God to give me manna for today, water for my thirst, and hope for tomorrow.  I need Him to remind me that though I feel lost, I am never abandoned.