On Rooting in the Wilderness

Exiled. Millions of miles from anything familiar. Captive. Under the siege of the enemy. Weary. Years of living with hope deferred.

If anyone knew a wilderness, it was Israel’s exiled masses in Babylonian captivity. Carried off from the Land of Promise to the Land of Persecution. From being identified as God’s Chosen to being held captive by the greatest power of the day. 

It didn’t seem to have an ending point. 

Imagine with me that we’re a part of this group. Longing for home has become our known companion. Despair sits on the edges, wanting to sink in and take over. Will this season of displacement ever end? When will we be led from this wilderness?

Then, a glimmer of hope—a letter from a prophet who says what God would say if he were here. Surely, this is a message of deliverance, a note that reminds us that help is on the way. Our God who is mighty to save is coming.

And then, halfway through the letter comes this zinger: When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my good promise to bring you back to this place (Jeremiah 29:10 NIV).

Seventy. Seventy years. Seven decades. Twenty-five thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven days. 

That’s a lot of days. A lot of hard days.

This wilderness will last a long, long time.

So, what are they to do with all these days? Weep and wail? Spend their days in silent prayer? Stand still and wait for the Lord’s deliverance? 

While all of those are actually things God asks of his children at some point in Scripture, none of these commands are what we hear from God in this moment. This time, he calls them to action.

They are to build. Build houses and gardens and families. They are to seek. Seek God with all of their hearts. They are to pray. Pray for peace and prosperity for their land and neighbors (Jeremiah 29:4–13).

That’s a lot of action verbs.

Perhaps this is a picture of our Good Father breathing life into a wilderness. And inviting us to participate in that process.

I’ve always had an image of how a wilderness season ends. It involves God using something like a bright yellow helicopter to swoop in and nab me out of the desert and plop me in the middle of pastures so green. In one fell swoop, my wilderness season is over. He has been my rescue. He has made me glad. 

But lately, our good God has been challenging that image. 

The last time I wrote for Velvet Ashes, I shared the promise in Isaiah that says the desert will bloom (Isaiah 35:1). In the very place that has been defined by destruction and lifelessness, new life will sprout up and blossom.

Truly, that’s way better than a helicopter rescue. That’s a rescue from One mighty enough to not only change a location but to change the very landscape from desert to garden. 

And it all leads me to another question: What role do I hold in the wilderness?

Am I just to sit and wait for my Father, the Master Gardener, to come and do all the work?  Am I to plow the soil?  Am I to purchase the seed? Am I to remove the weeds? 

I know my role is not to wallow in the wilderness, but what am I to do while I’m there?

Here’s what I’m beginning to see: I am to root.

In an act of acceptance, a root clings to the soil around it.  It opens to receive the rain, accepting it as nourishment that will help it grow right here, right now. The root reaches beyond its narrow world, stretching out its tendrils into the immediate neighborhood and beyond.

Soon, a green sprout pushes through the once-fallow soil. The root remains committed to its own health so that this green can grow stronger. In time, the sprout becomes a shoot. The strength of the root supports the new growth and blossoms, and, as the plant flourishes, the landscape changes from a wilderness to a garden.

And it all started with the root. 

Just like God asked those exiles to build, seek, and pray, he is asking us to do the same.

If you’re in a wilderness season, perhaps God is first calling you to a place of acceptance. This is where you are. It’s not where you will always be, but this is where you are right now. 

Then put your acceptance into action and root in. Let’s not be looking for the hidden back door of escape. This is where God has us. Rooting starts with acceptance, and it ends with growth. 

The Arcadian Wild puts this idea to melody in their song “Roots”. The chorus is my favorite:

So let’s do it, shall we? Let’s root in and watch this desert bloom.