I had finally reached my limit. I was frustrated, tired, and overwhelmed. Nearing my boiling point, my wife of nearly 27 years wisely and gently encouraged me to take a drive. When I’m in the country, that’s always good medicine for my soul.
Heading through the open country of highway 28, moving from open fields to tree-lined roads, the sun sparkling through their canopies above, I tried to process all that I was feeling. I crossed an old iron-girder bridge—the southern equivalent of the covered bridges of New England, I suppose—no music and nowhere to go, I drove.
Trying to get my head around how I was feeling, I reflected on my emotions, wondering why I was struggling so much to land on anything solid. That’s not like me. Even though my upbringing instilled a discomfort with displaying emotion, I feel them deeply. You may not know what I’m feeling, but it’s always just under the surface, clear and well-defined. But not this time. Not now.
For me, these times are rare. I feel pressure but I rarely feel completely overwhelmed. Bad things happen to everyone. There will always be something to challenge us; to “rock our world.” The question is how we deal with it in a way that doesn’t lead to some flavor of destructive behavior.
I’m a firm believer that God is the God of the wilderness. Over the years, I’ve
done a great deal of study and a lot of writing on the subject and believe that one of God’s greatest gifts of love (after salvation through Jesus) is the wilderness. In Scripture, wilderness experiences were the norm. Look it up and you’ll see that, from Abraham and Moses to Joseph, Job, and even Jesus, Himself, time in the dry and weary places were frequent…and they always served a purpose.
I have had my share of wilderness experiences. Many of them have been severe and life-altering but all of them have been used by God to make me who I am. Some of them have been similar to the place I was in while driving down that lonely stretch of highway in rural, south Mississippi: Numbness.
Admitting to God that I just couldn’t feel anything was frightening. I wasn’t apathetic, but I couldn’t get to any place in particular, emotionally. The road became the metaphor I was living at that moment, moving forward but going nowhere in particular. I told Him that, at that moment, I didn’t want to talk about it. I couldn’t talk about it. To be honest, there was nothing to talk about.
I don’t believe the danger is in experiencing those moments. I actually think times of getting so overwhelmed we are numb can be a good thing—even a necessary thing in our spiritual development. If we don’t have experiences of complete helplessness, we’ll never get help. We’ll never realize that we can’t really handle it. We fail to see that we really do need a Savior every single day of our lives.
I came to realize that I was not numb towards God—I was numb before God.
There are going to be the times that “overwhelmed” becomes an adjective that describes us. It’s where we are right now. It’s how we’re feeling in this moment. That’s ok. Don’t run from it. If you do, it will continue to show up because it hasn’t been dealt with. That’s the important thing: don’t let it get you to a place where it defines you.
So what do you do? What are some ways to move from numbness to tenderness. From apathy to compassion. From bitterness to grace? How do you walk in the wilderness with the right perspective that will lead to your growth through the wilderness? Let me offer a few suggestions that have served me well.
I think one of the most important things is to first develop a mindset that understands that, for Christians, the wilderness is a means of grace. It’s God’s training ground and His place for “time-outs”. If you are adopted by the Father through repentance and belief in His Son (Romans 10:9-10), God isn’t mad at you. He’s not looking for an opportunity to stick it to you. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ (Romans 8:1). This is important! If you don’t understand this, you will inevitably wave a fist at God in anger that He’s being so cruel. God is never cruel. He is a loving father who uses every opportunity for your good (Romans 8:28), even when it’s in the form of discipline. You have to come to grips with this during the good times because you’ll never get there in the bad. This can go a long way to sustaining you during the times of testing in the wilderness.
Secondly, don’t buy into the lie that Christians shouldn’t struggle. Don’t feel obligated by the ignorant that you must always have it together, plastered smile across your face, and the Christian quick-reply of “fine” ready on your lips when anyone asks you how you’re doing. Instead, develop a godly, biblical perspective. As exiles, we’re not immune from the struggles of life but we are immunized from the disease, which is utter destruction. It’s sickening but not fatal. We have to learn to fight through the symptoms so we can move to recovery as soon as possible. This is ours through the indwelling Holy Spirit but the fight is real. The pain is real. The numbness is real. Admit it. Own it. It’s ok.
As I flatly confessed my numbness before God, I took the first step towards feeling again, which eventually led me to repentance and the restoration of joy. God didn’t scold me. He embraced me. He listened like every good Father does. The Holy Spirit counseled me and Christ advocated for me. I wasn’t in terror that God would disown me or that my salvation was a sham simply because, in that moment, I didn’t have the “joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart”. Because I have developed a healthy perspective of the wilderness, I could live James’ counsel to “count it all joy when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.” (James 1:2-3). That’s the first thing I talked about. Verse 4 is the second.
James 1:4 continues with, “And let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.” In other words, don’t just do something, sit there. In my long drive through the spiritual wilderness, I waited. Against my innate “fix-it” instinct, I continued to drive. I wasn’t at that moment praying (I think we talk too much in prayer), I was listening. I was expecting. I was letting endurance have its full effect. I could do that because I’ve had to wait before and spiritual maturity gained through those times has taught me I don’t have to rush the process. I must not rush the process. It was uncomfortable but it was a familiar discomfort. That’s life in the wilderness.
Eventually I made it back from my long drive. Somewhere through the miles God whispered into my soul, “Peace, be still.” It’s all I needed. Calm began to flow through my body and the feeling slowly returned to my soul, and I could sigh a deep breath of peace, knowing that God has me. Yes, the storms will rage, the problems will mount, and the feelings of being overwhelmed will return, but my confidence in God’s strength is even greater now than when I pushed the key into the ignition. Every storm that God brings me through strengthens my confidence in His love and presence, and develops within me the ability to be still and know that He is God.
