Empowered in the Wilderness

The wilderness can be a frightening place.

It’s defined as a space untouched and uncultivated — an area devoid of human habitation or meaningful use.
An untamed place. Unwelcoming.

And maybe that’s why it feels so uncomfortable: because as humans, we weren’t made to survive there on our own.

We crave direction.
We long for shelter.
We want to know that our pain has a purpose and that our wandering will eventually lead us somewhere worth going.

But in the wilderness, everything feels stripped away—our plans, our pride, our control.

And what’s left is just… us.

Bare.
Bewildered.
Longing.

Yet maybe the only thing allowing us to remain there—day after day—is the quiet, steady power of the Holy Spirit.

Not our strength.
Not our strategy.
Not even our certainty.

“Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness.”
— Luke 4:1 (NIV)

Even Jesus—the very Son of God—was led there.
Not to be abandoned, but to be refined.
To be filled.
To be strengthened for what was to come.

And we see this, too, in the story of the Israelites.

What should have been an eleven-day journey took them forty years.

Not because God was cruel, but because He was patient.

They had escaped Egypt, but Egypt still had a hold on their hearts and minds.

“Remember how the Lord your God led you all the way in the wilderness these forty years, to humble and test you in order to know what was in your heart…”
— Deuteronomy 8:2 (NIV)

The wilderness became the space where God not only sustained them—but reshaped them.

Where He taught them to trust, not hoard.
To follow, not fight.
To receive identity, not from Pharaoh, but from the One who called them His own.

If I’m honest, this is where I find myself.

Not lost — but stripped.
Not without hope — but without clarity.

I’ve had to lay down what I thought were my plans. The timing. The vision. The security I had crafted.
And now? I have no idea what’s next.

But I feel certain — deep down — that the Lord is preparing me for something I can’t yet name.
Something bigger than what I can plan for or piece together.

It doesn’t feel glamorous. It feels quiet. Hidden.
But I know He’s doing something in this wilderness.
And I’m trying — day by day — to surrender to it, to trust that this is not the end, but the in-between space where transformation takes root.

The wilderness is not the absence of God.
It is often the very place where His presence becomes our only lifeline.

Where the Spirit meets us in whispers and in winds.
Where manna falls just enough for the day, and fire lights the night.
Where we are emptied of everything false so we can be filled again—this time, not with our own efforts, but with Him.

“The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans too deep for words.”
— Romans 8:26 (NIV)

I’m learning that the wilderness is not a punishment—it’s a proving ground.

A place where the Spirit empowers me not to run, but to remain.
To listen.
To lean in.
To let go.

And it’s here, in the silence and surrender, that I’ve found the purpose I wasn’t looking for.

Not the kind wrapped in clarity or control—
but the kind that anchors me in Presence
and leads me forward, one holy step at a time.

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up—do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
— Isaiah 43:19 (NIV)