I write a lot about spiritual deserts, liminal space and leaning into waiting on The Whisper (who is Jesus, only Jesus). I write about long, dry seasons because I've lived in them for most of my life. I have short spurts of relief and then I'm drawn back out to the wilderness. Sometimes those seasons manifest as depression, or heartbreak, or waiting on God to DO SOMETHING in my heart, my marriage and my life. I am very familiar with the sensation of God being on mute. I'm also intimately aware of the silent nearness of God. I am comforted by the sense that He is quietly watching life unfold with me, smiling over small moments of respite, his hands firm over my back, my shelter, when life presses in on me.
I feel like he knows me, all of me. I feel like he remembers the things I've repressed and is careful to not brush up against their slivers until its time to draw them out. For life. He is for my life, for my hope, for my rescue and redemption. He has stood with me when no one else would. He has noticed my motive when others judged my appearance. He has lifted me out, and into grace. He has sat with me in my darkness and The Whisper has always been like a warm light.
He is like salt in the air, my feet in the waves. He is like the sun setting over a horizon I can't comprehend. He is like a full inhale when I've been sucking in shallow breaths. He is the mystery of joy when I am alone and heartbroken. He is like wind in my fingertips when we drive at night, the air moist after a rain. He is like trees brushing against a blue sky, or mist hovering over the ground. He is surreal and incomprehensible. He is grace when I expected a closed door.
There is space in the spiritual that bleeds into the physical. Jesus in the things that make me stop and catch my breath. Jesus, only Jesus.
I could try to write about something else, but it would always really be Him. He sits under the branches of my life, listening and soaking me in. I speak and he leans in. I press my heart toward the sky, drawing my shoulders into new places - asking my fear and trauma to melt away. He is the theme of my existence, my breath, my song, my everything. Jesus, only Jesus.
Jesus in my yoga.
Jesus in my marriage.
Jesus in my parenting.
Jesus in my camera.
Jesus in my conversations.
Jesus in my words.
Jesus in my home, my heart, my desire, my future.
Jesus in my wilderness.
Space in the desert. There is space.
We all need more space to find Jesus.