Meeting God In The Wilderness

I have always loved walking through the forest. As far back as I can remember, I have felt calm and at peace in the woods. My favourite walks are the ones where I am alone, where, for a moment, I can allow myself to feel as though there are no distractions or barriers to the creation all around me. Walking in the forest always makes me want to slow down, be still, and listen. I’m not entirely sure what I am listening for—perhaps the peaceful sounds of nature, or maybe the quiet the forest brings. It might not be what the forest offers, but what it lacks that draws me time and time again to stand still. The forest lacks hurry, noise, and the constraints of time.

Over the years, I have discovered several forest paths, and I most certainly have my favourites. Some paths take you through cooler, evergreen-covered corridors, while others wind alongside ponds where bulrushes and wildlife flourish. Still some are lush with green, overflowing with an abundance of new growth.

As a child I would run off the pathway into the woods, pretending I was the only one out there or maybe even in the world, even though my family was only ever a short distance away. Even now that I am grown, I find myself walking along the path marvelling at how the sun trickles through the gaps in the trees, as I consider venturing off the familiar path. I look into the unknown of the forest and part of me longs to stray into the depths. I feel called to the places where there are no trails or paths, no expectation of direction or ending, and where there is no evidence of those who have come before - places where beauty and uncertainty are held in a beautiful balance.

Often in the church, we talk about our seasons in the wilderness as times and places where we never meant to end up—places where we are desperate to find the Lord and be led back to the path. Places of hardship and discomfort. Places where we feel lost. My walks in the forest, however, have led me to wonder about the seasons when we are called into the wilderness—not lost in the unknown, but rescued into it. I find myself asking if, at times, we grow weary from treading the pathways worn down by the work of man, and if we need to leave them behind to enter untouched, sacred places.

Perhaps the wilderness is not always a place where we desperately cry out to God, but a place where we meet Him. Perhaps it is not barren and desolate, but full of life and untarnished creation. Maybe the enemy wants us to fear the places where the path is unclear and the destination uncertain, because he knows that in those places all creation cries out that God is enough.

In the wilderness of life, we let go—of control, of knowing, of fixing (and I will tell you, I love to try to fix things)—and simply accept that God is there, and that He is enough.

I do not know what finds you in the wilderness of the woods, but for me, it is restlessness. It is the fear that I will lose track of where I am going, or what time it is, or that I will slow down too much. Our world has conditioned us to live in a constant state of productivity, and when we find ourselves in places where our only objective is simply to experience God, it can feel uncomfortable.

Isaiah 43:18-21 says: 

Forget the former things;

do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness

and streams in the wasteland.

The wild animals honour me,

the jackals and the owls,

because I provide water in the wilderness

and streams in the wasteland,

to give drink to my people, my chosen,

the people I formed for myself

that they may proclaim my praise.

God is making a way in the wilderness, and while we might not see the destination—and the footing may be challenging as we traverse difficult terrain—God is there. What I love about this passage is that the focus is not on being called out of the wilderness or the wasteland, but on how God is providing in the midst of them.

Lately, I have felt a bit lost. I feel as though I am lacking direction and have been trying to figure out which paths to take in the various areas of my life. Perhaps the restlessness I feel is that familiar call I have known for so many years—the call to leave the pathway and explore the deep, unknown territory before me. Perhaps I feel this way because God is asking me to meet Him in the wilderness, to let myself get a little lost in Him, and to forget about the perfectly manicured and carefully planned pathways of my life.

So today, as I walked through the woods, I ventured off the path. I wandered into the forest until there was no path in sight. I put my phone away and allowed myself to lose track of time. I looked around, and what I discovered in the wildness of the woods was life—vibrant, untamed, and full of God’s presence.Sometimes, it is only when we pause and let go of control that we truly see the life around us.

As I wrap up my thoughts, I cannot help but wonder if this is a call for the church today as well. Are we, as a body, willing to allow ourselves to get lost together in the untouched, sacred places of God’s presence? Or are we more concerned with effectively navigating a manmade path than with dwelling in the presence of the Lord in places we might not fully know?

Perhaps it is time for me, for you, and for the church to step off the well-worn trail and trust that God might be leading us into something new—knowing that in that new place, He will always be enough.