“I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends!His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!” The Lord is good to those who depend on him, to those who search for him. So it is good to wait quietly for salvation from the Lord. For no one is abandoned by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he also shows compassion because of the greatness of his unfailing love. For he does not enjoy hurting people or causing them sorrow.” Lamentations 3:20-26, 31-33.
How those ancient words on paper have brought me comfort over the past few years, I’ll never be able to fully explain. In fact, I don’t really understand what it is about knowing that you’re not the only one going through a ‘desert time’ that brings comfort. But it does. I see this in the clients I work with—that just want to know that they’re “not alone” in their suffering. Alcoholics Anonymous was on to something transformative when they established their program in the context of support groups. I’ve heard Gary Moon and other professors at Richmont Graduate University and more recently, Jan Johnson in her article “Real People, Real Programs, Real Change” (Conversations 8.1, pp59-63) say that if the church was serious about change they would operate more like AA, than what we’ve come to know of at church in the last decades where the masks (that hide pain, addiction, suffering, shame, etc) rarely come off.
Something powerful happens when people feel understood and supported in their pain, and the mask is removed. Carl Rogers, the great “Client-Centered Therapist” knew this well. He said empathy (along with genuineness and unconditional positive regard) provided the best environment for change in psychotherapy. When empathy is experienced, (not sympathy, please don’t confuse!) we feel that our pain is being shared and understood. It is then that we will begin to take steps in the direction of change or healing.
For me, reading in Lamentations or the Psalms that I wasn’t alone in my desert times brought so much comfort. Hearing the stories of others along the way who had also unexpectedly lost a parent, or who have struggled with miscarriages and infertility—just a few of the deserts I’ve been in the past few years—helped tremendously. It was then that I was able to see that I wasn’t alone walking in this scary, forbidden, and unforgettable place.
But, I need to be honest here—because the desert has a way of making us brutally honest at times. I don’t always feel like reading Scripture, or writing in my journal, or praying when I’m in the desert. In fact, I didn’t really know what to do or how to relate to God during some really dry spots over the past few years. So I didn’t. Dust collected on the grief books on my nightstand, on the journal I had hoped to capture my raw emotions in, and on the Bible that I used to love to read. I was at a spiritual formation conference (of all places!?) several years ago when I met with a spiritual director and told her my story, and asked how I might “get back to my old way” of relating to God amidst this dark time in my life. I’ll never forget what she said, because I had never considered the perspective that she introduced. In typical spiritual director speak, she said “What if this [desert] isn’t about you relating to God in a new way? But what if He is trying to relate to you in a new way [through your grief]?” In other words…that God might be removing my desire to journal and read the Bible…so that he could get my attention, and connect with me without those vehicles. Hmm? It still blows my mind to think about God wanting to pursue me and relate to me, not expecting me to relate to him in the things I check off my spiritual to-do list. But that’s “a-whole-nother” (as we say in the South) blog for another day.
I won’t forget those times in the desert, and I know that I’ll find myself there again before this life is over, but I do still dare to hope that the faithful love of the Lord doesn’t end… and He still shows compassion to those who wait.
Join the Conversation
What happens in you when you consider that God might be relating to you differently in the desert?
Is there a Scripture like Lamentations that speaks to you in your desert times?
 Joannah Sadler, LMFT, who is our Managing Editor and also looks after our Features section, divides her time between part time work for the journal, teaching, and working at Richmont Graduate University as a therapist. Joannah is married to Jason and lives in Atlanta.
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