I remember the day it hit me: This was my life now. I think, if I remember correctly, I was putting yet another load of laundry in the washing machine while jiggling a whimpering, teething baby on my hip with my phone tucked under my chin while on hold to speak with a nameless, faceless operator at some call center located in another country. I say I “think” I remember, because at that time in my life I felt like that load of laundry. Wash, rinse, dry, and repeat. Wake up, drink coffee, kiss husband good-bye, wipe runny noses, pick up toys, wash clothes, pay bills, make dinner, put kids in their beds, fall into my bed, and repeat. I felt like I was in a desolate, lonely place. A wilderness of monotony, wandering in circles. Have you ever been lost in the woods? Like, really lost? There’s that moment when you realize you’ve passed the same tree with the broken branch twice now and you are right back where you started and have to repeat the process over again, hoping this time to find a new path that takes you out of the woods.
I’m not a big fan of the in-between seasons. And I’m reminded of this each year when the world around me is trying to decide whether it’s ready to move into the next season. The calendar might have declared that it is spring, but the weather forecast calls for snow. And we get frustrated and anxious as we wait for the climate to catch up to the calendar.
I often think about the lives of the Israelites when they were living in the wilderness and wonder what it must have been like to wander around in the same barren land year after year after year. Forty of them, to be exact.
Not one of you will enter the land I swore with uplifted hand to make your home, except Caleb son of Jephunneh and Joshua son of Nun. As for your children that you said would be taken as plunder, I will bring them in to enjoy the land you have rejected. But as for you, your bodies will fall in this wilderness. Your children will be shepherds here for forty years, suffering for your unfaithfulness, until the last of your bodies lies in the wilderness. For forty years—one year for each of the forty days you explored the land—you will suffer for your sins and know what it is like to have me against you. (Numbers 14:30–34)
We know that they were in the wilderness as a punishment, and that most of them would never even get to see the Promised Land. Can you imagine how they felt? So defeated and so lost. They may have even believed that it was better to just give up. And yet, we know that they didn’t. Most went on to live a whole lifetime in that wilderness. Can you imagine that for a minute? A whole lifetime. A lifetime of births and marriages. Of celebrations and funerals. Children were born every day into the wandering, born and raised in the wilderness, in this in-between place. I like to think that, while this place was temporary, and let’s be honest, painful for the Israelites, it’s also a place where a lot of living happened.
This is often a challenge for us as Christians, as women, as wives and moms. We often find that many of the years of our lives feel like the in- between places. We start to feel stuck and then resentful and then resigned. We forget to actually live in the in-between. If I was honest with myself, I have to admit as a wife, stay-at-home mom, and homeschooler, much of my life has felt like I’ve lived it in the in- between. I find myself saying, “Just wait. Wait until the kids are grown and gone, until I can have my own career and life, until my husband retires, until we can travel and have fun and really live our lives.” I find myself becoming resentful of being in this place, my personal wilderness. I let myself become dry and parched. In my resentment, I go through the motions of living but forget to actually live, to live right there in that moment. I forget to stop and find the beauty around me in the everyday. I stop seeking water, I thirst for something more, but forget where to find the source to satisfy my thirst, the Living Water that always quenches.
I go through the motions of living but forget to actually live, to live right there in that moment.
How often have we had our mothers, or aunts, or mentors in our lives say, “Enjoy these days because they go by so fast,” and we grimace and nod, all the while thinking that they must have forgotten how hard this season is and what it’s like to feel so stuck, so tired, so stagnant. Yet we know they are right. The saying, “The days are long but the years are short,” is so true. Even in their sinfulness and disobedience, even when they were wandering in the wilderness, God did not abandon the Israelites. He provided for their needs. And it’s the same for me and for you. Take time to drink from the refreshing Living Waters that are provided to us daily. Get into the manna of His Word! God is with you and cares about each moment of your life, even the ones spent doing laundry and paying bills, and wiping bottoms and noses. Embrace this “in-between” season. Take hold of His promise to see you through every season of your life. The desert seasons of life will come and go, but the moments found in them and created in them will be your legacy . . . your promised land!