My skin reflects the state of my season. I scratch it with a fingernail and out comes a thin line, white and flaky from being so parched. It feels like the intensity of summer is conspiring with the desert in my spirit—the surface climate keeping in step with the deep condition of my own heart.
There is dryness, in the air I breathe, in the heat that hits my skin, in the wilting of prospects and provision. There is a sense of feeling stuck in a valley, where both the soil and soul feel an unquenchable thirst. In this desert, there is no thriving, just surviving; no lushness, just loss; no blooms, just banes; no pleasure, just pain.
When life brings you to walk in a wilderness, there are but a few words you can manage to say—Why… is this happening to me? How… will I get past this? Where… do I draw my strength from? When… will this end? What… do I do? Who… are You at this time?