A few months ago, a great friend of mine who, like me, is on the path toward ordained ministry, referred to her discernment process as “the wilderness season of discernment.” This is an image that has stuck with me ever since—I’ve even quoted my friend saying this in some sermons and prayers here and there. Many of us, at different times in our lives, find ourselves in what feels like a wilderness season, where we’re not sure what exactly comes next or when we can come out of the chaos and into the clearing. Maybe we’re considering a move, or a career shift. Maybe we’re still discerning exactly how we feel about God and about church, and trying to figure out what this means for our spiritual lives. There are so many things that cast us into the wilderness, that cause upheaval. It’s easy, during these times, to long for a life outside of the wilderness, but I wrote this poem about how there’s holiness in the wilderness too, holiness that is worth taking the time to honor:
The wilderness is dark and full of thorns. Often,
there’s no clearing ahead for miles, or anywhere
that you can see. Storms roll in, thunderously,
and there are strange footsteps just off
the path, emerging from the thicket. Meanwhile, all you want is
sunlight, silence, a beautiful clearing all to yourself
for just awhile, just long enough to think. But if you
rush there, you will get dehydrated, exhausted, your
feet will give out before you ever reach
your destination. So, sit on a log, and let the rain
wash over you. The deer and the bugs don’t want to
hurt you, they’re just there. There is beauty
in the sharp, wild, untamed too.