I feel like a snow cone without ice, a bride without a groom, clouds without the rain.
Though surrounded by friends, I feel utterly alone. It’s hot and dry. Where are You, God? I can’t see You. I can’t hear You. I can’t feel Your touch.
At first, I had hope. Just around the corner there’s an oasis for me. But it’s never there, just blazing sun and blistering sand. One mile, ten, a thousand, I trudge on no relief in sight. I am not asking for much, God. Just a shady palm and cool water to quench my thirsty soul.
I’ve stopped expecting, I’ve stopped believing. Does He know that I am alone? That I hurt and am afraid?
Wherever you are, do you hear me, God? I’ve had enough. I quit!
The setting sun kisses the day goodbye and I tremble in the darkness. It hisses, pointing a gnarled finger and mocking, “Nothing you do will ever be good enough. God has forgotten you. You don’t see Him. You don’t hear Him. You can’t feel His touch. You’re alone, alone, alone . . .”
Please somebody stop the pain, make it go away. But, no one does. Because no one can.
A rock for my pillow, burning sand for my bed, I toss and turn and cry. Will I ever see green pastures again? Has God banished me to live out my days in this barren wilderness?
Sometime in the early morning hours, I drift into the blessed release of sleep. Hours later, I stir, aware even before I open my eyes that something has changed. A gentle breeze cools my brow.
I am not Alone
I sense Him more than see Him. The accusing voice is gone, replaced with a soft whisper of hope. I acknowledge His presence, “My Lord and my God.”
Fully awake, I drink deeply of the cool water He offers and it satisfies my soul. He holds my dusty face between His tough but tender hands. He turns it toward His own and I am lost in His eyes. He smiles, I smile. At last, my journey is at an end.
He wraps me in His strong arms and cradles me close. I feel safe in his embrace. He speaks and I listen hoping that His words will promise a tomorrow filled with wonder and joy. I wait to hear Him say that my quota of sorrow has been filled, and I will never feel pain again.
But, what’s this? The words He speaks are not at all what I had hoped to hear.
“Am I enough? If tomorrow is always as today, am I enough?”
I repeat His question not sure I’ve understand, “If tomorrow is always as today, are you enough?”
I pull away, eyes blazing with anger.
“No!” I spit the words like bullets from my mouth, “Absolutely no! You are not enough. I need lush pastures, morning mist, bubbling streams and caroling birds. I need a home to go home to, fresh strawberries, a baby’s sweet smile, a soft pillow for my head.”
A tear trickles down my cheek, and He gently wipes it with His thumb. I begin to sob.
“You know what else I need, God? I need someone who understand; someone to help me carry my load. I need a friend who will love me and laugh at my silly jokes. A friend who will weep with me, hold my hand and whisper, “You’re mine. I love you. Don’t be afraid, I’m here.” Do you understand, Lord? Do you understand what I need?”
“I believe I do,” He warmly smiles, “what you need is Me. I understand. I’ll carry your load; I’ll laugh at your silly jokes. I’ll cry with you, then dry your tears; I’ll hold your hand in Mine. When the storm is raging, I’ll shelter you safe. I’ll pull you close and whisper, ‘Don’t be afraid, I’m here.’ I will give you rest.”
For a moment He is quiet, then softly speaks once more, “No one can be everything you need. No one except Me.”
It’s hot and dry. The desert wind blows. But there’s an oasis ahead for me.
“Am I enough?” He whispers, arms outstretched. I feel like an icy-cold snow cone, a bride with her groom, gentle rain on a hot summer day.
“Yes, Lord. You are enough. You are more than enough for me.”
“Desperate, I throw myself on Him: He is my God!” – Psalm 31:13-15 The Message