Remember the Drought

In the summers, my dad would chop down the pine trees that had died alongside our property during the previous year, swiping flies and ringing sweat from his red handkerchief that he would use to wipe his face and then stuff as a wadded ball of fabric into his back pocket.

What had once been a wall of my make-believe log cabin, and heavenly shade in the sticky Indiana July heat was left as nothing more than a stump that stretched to my waist. 

I would trace my fingers over the uneven cuts of my dad's ax, observing the rough circles growing smaller and smaller to center. 

Some of the circles were almost touching they were so close together and others had spaces the size of my fingernail. The circles were lopsided, discolored, beautiful, and strange. 

I finally asked my mom the meaning of the circles, and she explained each ring represented a year of growth the tree had lived through, and if I counted the number of rings, I could actually tell how old the tree was. 

She also explained that the spaces between the rings could tell me how much rain the tree had received from one year to the next, whether the tree had lived through a drought or even a forest fire. 

Since those summers, I have loved the idea that with a little time, some careful observation, and a desire to understand, you can learn some of the most intimate pains and joys the tree had lived through. 

And I can't help but think of my own uneven, lopsided growth. 

For the years of my spiritual life that felt like droughts, where my faith felt like it was hanging by a thread and I felt like I was losing my love for the Lord, still I grew. 

For the years of my spiritual life that felt like forest fires, where the consequences of my own sin destroyed so much more than I bargained for, and so much more than I felt capable of recovering from, still I grew. 

For the years of my spiritual life that felt like times of plenty, where I felt overwhelmed by the love and grace of the Lord who continued to give me more than I could have ever dreamed, even still I grew. 

And I share this because sometimes it feels like I am trying to survive a drought. 

A tree in a drought is also referred to as drought-stressed. When a tree begins to undergo this type of stress, it will start to shed leaves. The fewer leaves the tree has, the more water the tree will be able to conserve. 

In short, the tree adapts.  

Usually, the tree recovers from this process of adaptation and soon it will find its boughs full of green leaves again. But sometimes, if a tree has shed all of its leaves, the tree isn't able to recover because of the lack of food caused by not having any leaves to photosynthesize. 

I am not always sure I am adapting. 

I long for deeper friendships with the people here. I long for a stronger community. I long for intimate conversations over coffee. I long to walk the Christian life with fellow believers sharing the joys and sorrows and struggles of that lifelong journey. 

But for whatever reason, the Lord has decided not to fulfill that longing in my heart. For whatever reason, the Lord has seen it fit to hold back the rain, causing the soil to slowly dry up and break, leaving deep gashes in the earth where my roots, hungry for water, have sunk deeper into the earth. 

Psalm 38:9 (CSB) says "Lord, my every desire is in front of you, my sighing is not hidden from you." 

The Lord knows of my desire for a stronger community here. He knows of my desire for deeper friendships. He knows of my desire to walk this Christian life with people here. He is not ignoring me. He is not depriving me. He is simply asking me to be patient, to have faith, and to grow anyway. 

Psalm 38 continues on in verse 15 "For I put my hope in you, Lord; you will answer me, my Lord, my God."

Despite not hearing a response from the Lord, despite not seeing his circumstances change, David still puts his hope and faith in the Lord. 

David knows that God is not plugging his ears to his prayers and he continues to believe that at the right time God will answer, but that also means that David must wait. 

C.S. Lewis in his book "Mere Christianity" writes: "The hall is a place to wait in, a place from which to try various doors, not a place to live in. For that purpose, the worst of the rooms (whichever that may be) is, I think, preferable. It is true that some people may find that they have to wait in the hall for a considerable time, while others feel certain almost at once which door they must knock at. I do not know why there is this difference, but I am sure God keeps no one waiting unless he sees that it is good for him to wait. When you do get into your room you will find that the long wait has done you some kind of good, which you would not have had otherwise. But you must regard it as waiting, not camping. You must keep praying for light; and, of course, even in the hall, you must begin trying to obey the rules which are common to the whole house. And above all, you must be asking which door is the true one."

This "some type of good" Lewis is referring to here, is, I think, sanctification. And God in his mercy and love for me is not meeting my desires because he sees there is some work of sanctification that needs to take place first. 

Could it be my desire to be liked by everyone that he sees fit to sanctify? Could it be the approval of others that often finds itself as an idol in my heart that he would like to realign? Could it be persistent fears of being unseen that he wants to correct? 

Who knows, but clearly he's got options. 

I think we often miss the point of waiting, of unfulfilled desires and prayers that have yet to be answered. Even if we are contented to quietly wait, I would argue we are still missing the point, which is what I think Lewis is talking about when he warns us that "waiting" is not to be confused with "camping." 

Waiting is never for the sake of waiting. Waiting is always to accomplish some work in us that could not be fulfilled in any other way. But I think we can sometimes be so focused on just "getting through" the time of waiting that we never look inward to see what the purpose of the waiting might be or what God might be trying to sanctify in us. 

It might take years to realize what the purpose of the waiting was, and even then, we may never understand the full scope of what God was doing until we reach Eternity. 

Another thing I find fascinating about trees is their memory; trees do not easily forget. 

In a study conducted by The Department of Plant Pathology and Microbiology at Texas A&M University, 73% of trees were still showing symptoms of drought stress 7 years after the drought had passed. 

Something repeated over and over again in scripture is the command to remember:

"I will remember the Lord's works; yes, I will remember your ancient wonders. I will reflect on all that you have done and meditate on your actions" (Psalm 77:11-12 CSB). 

"So, then, remember that at one time you were Gentiles in the flesh--called 'the uncircumcised' by those called 'the circumcised,' which is done in the flesh by human hands. At that time, you were without Christ, excluded from the citizenship of Israel, and foreigners to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus, you who were far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ" (Ephesians 2:11-13 CSB). 

"Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out of there with a strong hand and an outstretched arm. that is why the Lord your God has commanded you to keep the Sabbath day" (Deuteronomy 5:15 CSB). 

We are commanded to remember hard, difficult moments of our lives: the Israelites were commanded to remember their time of ruthless and abusive servitude in Egypt. Why? So that they can remember the powerful way the Lord delivered them out into freedom and new life. 

Former Gentiles are commanded to remember their wayward pasts when they were excluded from grace, destined for Hell, and without hope of ever being counted as co-heirs to the promises of God. why? So that they can remember the miracle of being given equal share in something they never deserved. 

And we, as Christians, who struggle against our flesh, who suffer in a fallen and broken world, who go through things we wish we could forget or never think about again, are commanded to remember. Why? So that we can remember how the Lord redeemed us, saved us, pulled us from the pit and set our feet on a solid place to stand. 

And the only fitting response to this remembering is worship. 

We can't pay God back and even the debts, and he doesn't ask us to. All he asks is that we remember and respond in worship. 

I know it might seem strange for me to be talking about remembering this time of drought when I am still in the middle of it, when the rains still haven't come. But I know they will. I know this time will pass about I don't want to forget God's faithfulness right now, in the midst of the hard, in the midst of the waiting, in the midst of blind faith. 

The rains will come; never forget the drought. 

You are loved and you are not alone, 

S