I am dry. And I thirst for Him.

As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul longs after You, O God (Psalm 42:1).

Today I am dry. And I thirst for Him. 

I had a vision once when I was in Mexico. It happened in the middle of the night when I had gotten up to use the bathroom. The moon was full over the desert ranch as I passed the window, and its light spilled a cascade of silver on my newly planted garden below. The tilled soil. The baby plants. All of the day’s labor. And somewhere in my mind, wherever visions are planted, I was barefooted in that garden. The mud squished between my toes as I danced. I danced with the Lord, beneath the moon, my arms raised to Him. Free and unhindered like a child, with hope and joy bursting from my heart. And I said to Him, “If you will plant it and grow it, I will share it.”

We lived in a land of great need. Of hunger and poverty. Scarcity in life. And that little garden was what I had to give. It was my part to bring hope into the hurt others. And I was longing to share it.

Only, it never amounted to much on my watch. I am not so great with plants, and the hot sun, little rain, and sandy earth are hard to compete with. Nothing really grew. We got a few vegetables, that was it. Nothing to feed the hungry. To meet the deep need of those around us. And there has always been a little part of me that mourned that garden. I think I believed somewhere inside, I had made a promise to God I could never keep. That I had failed Him.  

To know me is to understand. I am a child who seeks approval. Who desires to be recognized. Who tries very hard to be perfect. I am that child who hears a thousand good things yet crumbles underneath the weight of one bad. Not outwardly. No, you will not know it. 

Writing is vulnerable for one like me. It opens me up to opinions, both good and bad. Accolades, acknowledgements, judgements. And I can try as hard as I can to please, but I will never gain approval from everyone. I will not be perfect to the world. And so, I will fail. I will ingest the highest praise and the lowest rebuke, all of it, and it will be a reflection, not of what I do, but who I am. 

You say, but you are a child of God, you should gain your identity from Him. Yes, you are right. But often I do not. And criticism can devour me one whisper at a time. 

So, my writing has taken its toll. Sometimes I don’t know what to say. Or I am afraid to say the wrong thing. One friend after reading something I wrote said to me, “I thought I knew you. Now I don’t know who you are at all.” 

No, maybe not. Maybe I don’t know either.

My husband says to me, “You need to write more. It is a gift that God is using in people’s lives.” And I say in my heart, But I am empty. I have nothing to give unless the Lord gives it. Unless I hear from Him, I have nothing for anyone. 

You say, that is the right perspective. But it wasn’t. You have to hear the I am empty part. 

I have nothing to give.

I am a dry and weary land. And I thirst for Him.

We had a ladies’ retreat at the farm this last weekend. Twelve women in the upper room. The worship experience was overwhelming. One of the songs says: 

Lord, take me back. 

Back to the beginning. 

When I was young. 

Running through the fields with you. 

…Running through the fields with You.

And He took me to that place I had met Him in the garden. Under the moon. When I had kicked off my shoes, threw off all care, and danced with Him. Where my dreams and hopes were birthed. That place I wanted to change my world. To have the greatest impact for Him. 

He took me, also, to that same garden where I had failed Him. Where the soil was dry and cracked and did not bring life. That place where I had nothing to give. He took me there. 

And He said to me: My child, don’t you see? It wasn’t about the plants in the ground. It wasn’t so small as that. It was about what I’ve planted in you. In you. I have done the work. In the soil of your heart, I have planted my garden. 

I will nourish it. I will water it.

It will grow. 

And you will share it. 

On the way out of the retreat, through tears I shared with my dearest friend what the Lord had shown me. That it wasn’t about the garden in Mexico at all. That He had planted in the soil of my soul. And someday, I would know exactly how He was using it.  

She turned to me and said, “Wasn’t it in Mexico, during that same exact time you had the vision of the garden, when the Lord gave you the gift of writing?”

Yes. It was.

So, my friend, here is a seedling planted just for you and just for me. The Gardener will tend to whatever it is He has planted in your heart. He will till the dry and cracked land. He will nourish it back to life. He will grow it to be all it is meant to be. 

And you will share it with your world.

Whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a fount of water springing up to eternal life (John 4:14).