What if the Wilderness is the Destination?
It’s not so much that I’ve been hiding—I’ve simply been waiting.
For the last few months, it’s felt like everything around me has been holding its breath, wanting me to explain what my plan is. My previous season had come to a close—perhaps abruptly for everyone else but a long time coming in my heart—and people close to me were wondering all the whys and hows. Constant echoes of:
“Where are you going?”
“What are you doing now?”
“What’s your next step?”
“When are you coming back?”
I packed up my things and drove into the desert, and the dust cloud behind me left a community full of whispers.
Not knowing is perhaps more real and authentic than any answer I could drum up to satisfy a curious mind. No plan, no “to do” list to master, no more empty promises.
But telling others, “I don’t have a plan!” hasn’t really gone over well. No surprise there. The questions remain, the doubt in their eyes is palpable, and I’m left shrugging my shoulders, not the least bit concerned, though perhaps tired of trying to be understood.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever experienced this, but when I feel a season is over, I just know, and I move forward. I don’t need God to explain why or convince me or even tell me what’s next. To me, a clear path holds the same danger as the cloudy one—I’ve walked both and know that the narrow road is never safe or easy, regardless of how prepared you are for what’s ahead.
But in all the well-meaning questions we seem to ask one another about life, I can’t help but be deeply troubled in my spirit. There are some underlying assumptions in this need for answers that are tied to a performance identity.
Dismantling a Cultural Stronghold
“What project are you working on next?”
This is a question I’ve really chewed over for the last few months—one that has come up so frequently it makes my head spin around. It’s not that people mean to trigger me with this question; they truly are just curious. I’ve always been someone who is up to something new, always balancing on-going projects and ideas. This is perhaps why God led me into a season without any deadlines, projects, or plans. And without any new creative endeavour to chatter on about—I’ve released a need to be seen as “creative” from my central identity.
Here’s what I’ve discovered: I really believe that living every day is enough. Beyond what we can produce or create or earn or contribute. Our value is not in what we can produce or consume. That is a very capitalist—not Biblical—belief.
Your value isn’t based on how many people you bring to Jesus, how many Sunday services you attend, or how much you sacrifice and serve others. Your inherent value is solely based on an act you can’t take any credit for—your reconciliation through the Cross. It’s a free gift of salvation and forgiveness of sins received through Jesus, who did all the work (Ephesians 2). He sacrificed Himself to restore a oneness that was lost between us (the ones He made in His Image) and the Creator. It’s that “oneness” that God is seeking—salvation and forgiveness are just part of the process, not the central point, which we so often get hung up on (trying to grab a ticket to heaven when we should be praying on earth as it is in heaven right here, right now.)
This isn’t a justification for disobedience or doing whatever you want under grace—but a reminder of the central thing we all claim to believe—that Jesus came so we could spend eternity with Him, no separation. (Even though many who claim to be believers simply want to check off salvation and go back to living without Him.)
If you truly know the Lord and understand His love for you, you will naturally long to help and serve and love others—turning your faith into action, which is why James wrote faith without works is dead (James 2) and why Paul wrote do not use your freedom as an excuse to sin (Romans 6).
Simply being alive and in communion with God, abiding—that’s enough. That’s always the first commandment (Matthew 22). It’s why we were made in the first place. It’s the true call—to love the Lover of our souls. And then from that love, from that place of true intimacy, comes the second commandment—seeing the people around us, loving them in their mess, and showing up where we’re needed. Isn’t that a life well lived by gospel standards?
(I don’t see anywhere in those two commandments about fulfilling our dreams or having a lot of plans and accomplishments, which comes from a very Western mindset. The Bible seems to rebuke people who claim to know what tomorrow holds (James 4).
Does a bedridden person have any less value to God because they’re not in the world actively hustling or showing up to a church building? Of course not. Does a child have little value to God? They only take and offer very little, yet they are one of the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
It’s a Kingdom unlike the ones we know. Where those who have little have the greatest to give (just think of the widow’s coin). And those who have a lot, well, they tend to not let go or give at all—ending up at the back of the line (like the rich young ruler).
Examining Our Hearts
If all you have to give to God in this season is your heart’s cry, if all you have to give is your devotion—well, that’s really the point, isn’t it? Beyond any book you can write or podcast you can start or platform you want to build or ministry you feel called to. If you never did another thing for God, do you think He would still love you? If you suddenly lost the ability to speak or write or walk or go out—would you still have His love?
It’s a confronting question for the church of Performance, which has built congregations based on leadership levels and serving positions—or the church of Excellence, which spends more time planning merch launches than discipleship groups—or the church of Entertainment, which posts more to social media than interacting with actual members. If all the “doing” ceases, will you find the Spirit of God was there? Or simply that things were running regardless of His Presence?
Because you see, it’s all the root of the same problem. We live “for” Jesus, so often forgetting that He is a person and not a movement. He’s not a brand, business, or mascot. We’re in a family relationship with Him—not employment. It’s an inheritance, not a paycheck. We’re invited to work the garden, but it’s because our dwelling place is with Him. And He’s in the garden.
In all our striving and accomplishments and busyness…we didn’t notice the moment He stepped out of the room. Planning Center just kept rolling, and we were too proud of our clever sermons and excellent musical moments to notice.
Pride is blinding us all, myself included.
Lost in the Wilderness
I’ve been tired of the American “church” hustle for a very long time.
Tired of coffee meetings where people expect to hear all kinds of upcoming projects or want to pick my brain for their own ambitious gain. Tired of the noise and consumption. Tired of empty hype and foolishness. I became very jaded by the number of people who would come up to me, instead of God, seeking revelation—which, by the way, comes from intimacy with God. Deeply disappointed by the number of believers trying to shortcut a relationship with God, just aiming for the benefits He can give them without the work of building a lifestyle with Him. It seemingly drove me to the wilderness.
If Jesus wasn’t in the building, where did He go?
A quiet place to pray.
At first, the wilderness felt like punishment or judgment to me. The place where bad Christians get sent when they don’t meet their “fruit of the spirit” quota for the month. Or when they ask too many questions and make religious institutions and their leaders mad.
It’s a very shocking and confronting place. If you’ve ever sat in silence with your own thoughts for any period of time, you’ll understand. The silence can be deafening.
And as much as we want the mountain to move out of our way, that’s not always what happens. As much as we want to avoid the valley of the shadow of death, it still seems to be on the path ahead.
I’m learning in this season that sometimes, the wilderness is the destination. Not just something to endure and get through. It’s somewhere to go, to rest.
Jesus sought it out, directed by the Spirit, finding a quiet expanse to pray and abide. That tells me there’s something of value, a pearl of great price, hidden in the desert. Beyond the desolation or danger or despair—there’s something to be sought after here.
It’s also where He was tempted, which tells me the place of our greatest rest or revelation can also be the place of our greatest trials. It’s surely not for the faint of heart. Or those without a root system. It’s a thin place, where the veil between what is seen and unseen disappears. God is closer than ever, though the darkness might convince you otherwise.
Let Your Roots Go Deeper
There’s no compass or map in this kind of season—you just need a little seed of faith and the steadfastness to wait. And what am I waiting on? Your guess is as good as mine.
But if it’s from God, it will be good.
If you feel the grace has lifted from your season, but there’s nowhere in sight you feel you can go, may I invite you into the wilderness? It might be daunting at first, but you may just find what you’ve been looking for.
And if you find nothing at all, then that’s just fine, too. It’s not a competition, and just know, you won’t be camping here forever.
ELISE LAKEY
Elise is a writer and artist, living in the in-between. She’s the founder of Garden Theology and seeks to help all gardeners-in-training come to their full purpose in God. When she’s not writing, you can find her playing in the dirt, snuggling her cats, or weaving tapestries.
