Thirsting in the Wilderness:
A Journey Through Spiritual Dryness and Longing
Have you ever stood in front of someone you love, feeling as though their acceptance is the thin thread keeping you from falling apart? I have. There were moments when the fear of disappointing someone important to me felt like a weight pressing on my chest, making it impossible to breathe. No thoughts could cut through the fog of anxiety; it was all-consuming, a silent scream echoing inside me. I could feel my face go numb, my tongue tingling, as if I were trapped in a body that refused to cooperate.
In these moments, I became a character in a horror movie. The camera angle narrowed my vision, focusing solely on my terror, blinding me to everything else. I was frozen, unable to see the world around me, unable to grasp anything solid to pull myself out of the panic. My mouth went dry, my lips cracked, and I felt like I had swallowed sand. There was no relief, no escape—just a desperate longing for something, anything, to bring me peace.
I would try to fight it off, to muster the strength of an athlete or a warrior. I’d brace myself, push forward, pretend I was in control. But the truth was, I was drowning. Waves of anxiety crashed over me, one after another, leaving me gasping for breath. Then, when the tide of fear receded, depression would follow, washing me out to sea again. I was caught in a cycle that left me desiccated, a husk of who I once was.
Therapy became a lifeline—a small glimmer of hope in the midst of the storm. My therapist guided me to confront what I feared most. In one session, I saw a part of myself as a desiccated husk—a mummy, a scarecrow stripped of life, completely drained. It felt all too real, and the weight of that image broke something inside me. I wept, not just for the person I had become, but for the connection I craved and couldn’t find.
Psalm 42 speaks to this kind of longing: “My tears have been my food day and night.” I lived this verse. There were days when tears seemed like the only sustenance I could muster. I lost weight rapidly, unable to eat or drink. The hunger and thirst I felt weren’t just physical; they were spiritual. I was searching for something deeper, something to fill the emptiness inside. But no person, no human connection, could truly satisfy that ache.
I often wondered why I felt so lost, why my soul was so disturbed within me. The psalmist’s words echoed my own questions: “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me?” I sought answers in every direction, questioning what was wrong with me, why I couldn’t seem to get relationships right. It felt like I was standing on unstable ground, trying to find footing where none existed.
The most disorienting part was realizing that I was seeking something from people that no one could truly give. I longed for connection, for love, for acceptance—but I was asking too much of others. No one person can carry the weight of being our source of calm and stillness. It’s a burden too great for any human soul. And so I stood, like a deer panting for water, desperately seeking what only God could provide.
“Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.” I know what it is to be swept away, to feel as though the world is too much. But even in the depths, there is a glimmer of hope. Psalm 42 isn’t just about despair; it’s about longing that leads us somewhere. It’s about the thirst that drives us to seek the one source who can truly quench it.
As we move through this week, I invite you to sit with this longing, to acknowledge the places in your life where you feel dry, unseen, or abandoned. Psalm 42 reminds us that the deep thirst we experience is not a sign of weakness but an invitation—a call to seek something greater than ourselves. The psalmist, in his longing and despair, ultimately directs his cries to God, yearning for His presence as the only true source of living water. This longing sets the stage for what comes next, for the promise found in Psalm 23—that we are not alone in our seeking. The same God who hears our desperate cries in the wilderness also leads us beside still waters, restoring our soul. The journey from spiritual dryness to finding true rest and comfort is a narrative arc we will continue to trace together, from anguish to awe, from longing to fulfillment.
Psalm 42 (AMP)
1 As the deer pants [longingly] for the water brooks,
So my soul pants [longingly] for You, O God.
2 My soul (my life, my inner self) thirsts for God, for the living God.
When will I come and see the face of God?
3 My tears have been my food day and night,
While they say to me all day long, "Where is your God?"
4 These things I [earnestly] remember and pour myself out within me:
How I used to go along before the great crowd [of people]
And lead them in procession to the house of God,
With the voice of joy and thanksgiving, a great crowd keeping a festival.
5 Why are you in despair, O my soul?
And why have you become restless and disturbed within me?
Hope in God and wait expectantly for Him, for I shall again praise Him
[For the help of] His presence.
6 O my God, my soul is in despair within me [the burden more than I can bear];
Therefore I will [fervently] remember You from the land of the Jordan
And the [summits of Mount] Hermon, from Mount Mizar.
7 Deep calls to deep at the [thundering] sound of Your waterfalls;
All Your breakers and Your waves have rolled over me.
8 Yet the Lord will command His lovingkindness in the daytime,
And in the night His song will be with me,
A prayer to the God of my life.
9 I will say to God my rock, "Why have You forgotten me?
Why do I go mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?"
10 As a crushing [of my bones] with a sword, my adversaries taunt me,
While they say continually to me, "Where is your God?"
11 Why are you in despair, O my soul?
And why have you become restless and disturbed within me?
Hope in God and wait expectantly for Him, for I shall yet praise Him,
The help of my countenance and my God.
🙏🏼