When I picture a desert landscape, I see sand – lots and lots of yellow sand – cactus upon cactus, maybe some of them with a few pink flowers on them, and perhaps a mirage. That’s about it. Probably blue, sunny, cloudless skies because deserts are very hot.

The desert has dormant seeds, though, that turn into wildflowers! And not just a few here and there; at certain times of year, parts of the desert are carpeted in wildflowers. Those seeds that lay beneath the sand, unbeknownst to anyone traveling a dusty road through the vast desert land, are waiting for the right opportunity to burst forth and bring beauty to an arid landscape.

My soul has felt like a desert for a while now. Dry. Cracked earth. Spiritual food and water are available but sometimes I don’t know what’s “safe” to eat. Some things people offer as comfort are not comforting at all. I have to turn to The Good Book to know I’m getting real nutrition.

The thing about those wildflowers, from what I read, is that they need very specific conditions to bloom and that is why it doesn’t happen often. They need at least one inch of rain to blossom.

I cannot make it rain more often in the physical desert. In my personal desert, a place most often devoid of happiness and enjoyment, I do know where my help comes from. The problem is holding onto that help long enough to get a whole inch at one time.

In the literal desert, humidity is so low that not enough vapor exists to form rain clouds. In the rain shadow desert of southern California, coastal storms from the Pacific Ocean try to blow in to reach the desert but are blocked by Mount San Jacinto and Mount San Gorgonio. It stays dry on the Eastern side of the mountains.

I find my desert often blocked by mountains built by the enemy. Rain is produced but is sometimes stopped from reaching me due to shouting from the enemy inside my weary head. Weary of fighting for strength and joy and “normalcy.” There is no more normal. People say there will be a “new normal” but I’m learning it will never feel “normal”again. It will just always be different in a way it was never supposed to feel. (You can argue “supposed to” and “it was part of God’s plan” with me but I have an entire discourse to kindly but fervently release upon you should you care to discuss it. God knew my husband would die, yes. He, however, did not cause or plan it. He is only capable of GOOD.)

The goal is to keep trying to create the right conditions for enough rain to meet my desert without being blocked by the mountains. There is an entire ocean of water to evaporate from and bring to my desert but I have to keep chipping away at these mountains. They are called despair, hopelessness, depression, fear, to name a few. Oh, I have a hope. I have complete faith about where my husband is now and that I will join him one day. But the hope has not managed to soak my earthly soul yet, for what the rest of my life will look like here.

If my imagery hasn’t hit you fully yet, God is the ocean, Satan and his gnarly minions are the mountains, I am the desert. And I still have these dormant seeds lying within a parched ground. The Bible tells me that I can say to this mountain to be lifted up and cast into the sea…and it will. I believe it…for me, though, it seems to be moving one pebble at a time.

The fact that the mountain is veeeerrry slow moving causes some degree of a crisis of faith for me sometimes. The enemy tries to tell me “if you’re such a strong Christian, a true believer, and God is who you think He is, why is your mountain so hard to lift, huh? Why am I still here, able to hold onto your rain?” And then I remember, over and over again, that God did not ever say I wouldn’t have trouble in this life; much the opposite, in fact. John 16:33 says “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (emphasis mine)

Jesus had trouble. He had so much that he cried and asked God to change what was happening…but the plan for his future was necessary. It was immovable, unchangable, if God intended to create a path to salvation for all of His children. Jesus wept. Jesus prayed. Jesus still died. Jesus rose again.

“I have told you these things so that, in me, you may have peace…” Yes, in Him I have peace at the very core of my spirit even as battle rages within me. I have the peace that I will see my husband again one day. I have peace that I will not always live in a place where there is worry, loss, despair. That does not change what I feel now, just like it didn’t make even Jesus feel carefree that it would soon be over; he still had to live through what physically hurt more than I can imagine.

I’m not a failed Christian because my flowers aren’t blooming yet in this desert where I now reside. (Neither are you if this post aligns with what you are feeling in your own grief.) It’s my desert; I know where the seeds lay planted. I also know they will only be dormant for a time. I know God is brewing up a rain cloud of epic proportions to pour over me because when the enemy fights the hardest it is because God is about to do something big in the Kingdom. I may be down, but I am not out.

Today I will keep seeking sources of living water. Tired as I am, I will continue to search for that which can make my dormant seeds bloom. I have been planted in this season to one day give testimony to what He does in tremendous loss. He stays. He protects my heart. He fights for me when I have no fight left. He is here. Faith means I don’t have to feel it to know that it is still true.

”Even the wilderness and desert will be glad in those days. The wasteland will rejoice and blossom with spring crocuses. Yes, there will be an abundance of flowers and singing and joy! The deserts will become as green as the mountains of Lebanon, as lovely as Mount Carmel or the plain of Sharon. There the Lord will display his glory, the splendor of our God.“
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭35‬:‭1‬-‭2‬ ‭NLT‬‬