In the beginning, when we first step into the wilderness, we're unsure of what's going to happen. This is all new, all unknown territory. We've never lived this life, breathed this air, traveled this road. We don't know who or what is out here, what is going to surface in us when we're alone, or if the desert ever turns into an oasis. We just know that going backwards is never an option and that moving forward means facing the wilderness. We start out with heavy bags, certain that we need these perspectives, theologies, and certainties in order to survive. We carry them like boulders strapped to our backs, but it isn't long before we begin to taste the wild air. We dismantle our survival instincts, our filters, our labels, and our attempts to be in control. Eventually, usually when we're alone in the dark, we realize we aren't carrying anything anymore. Our souls are breathing. Our minds are expanding. Our hearts are healing. Our bodies are releasing. We're going wild.
Whatever scared us about awakening the wild in us seems childlike now. We were afraid because we didn't have context for who we could be out here. We were afraid because we were told to be afraid. But here we are, thriving.
The beauty of wild spirituality is that it grows where it wants to, flourishes as it wants to, uncovers wells when it wants to. It isn't a knowing, it's an unknowing. It's a willingness to discover that we were always wrong about where God must live. It's a brave resilience and the fierce way we face storms when they come. It's the empowering uncovering of how capable we are, how strong we are, how worthy we are. The wilderness is open to everyone who seeks it, but few choose it.