My Wilderness Summer (Megan)

The arrival of our twins brought me into a season of isolation I couldn't have anticipated.  Instead of enjoying a summer of sunshine, invigorating exercise, satisfying projects, and outings with my friends, I found myself marooned on the couch with my nursing pillow and nocturnal infants for company.  Less than two years earlier I had run a marathon, yet there I was unable to sit up or switch a load of laundry without assistance.  My C-section recovery and the lack of a vehicle large enough to accommodate our family of 10 restricted me to the confines of my small house. My living room walls were closing in on me, and my spirits began to wither in that dark place.

 Desperate for any diversion from my gloomy thoughts, I picked up Robinson Crusoe.  Although this story was familiar to me, I had always skimmed over the powerful account of this sailor's conversion.  In my fascination with his travels and ingenuity, I had missed the fact that Crusoe's most significant journey was spiritual.  The cries of his heart, uttered in terrifying isolation as he faced the prospect of a lifetime on his "Island of Despair," echoed my own. 

 "I had great reason to consider it as a determination of Heaven, that in this desolate place, and in this desolate manner, I should end my life. The tears would run plentifully down my face when I made these reflections; and sometimes I would expostulate with myself why Providence should thus completely ruin His creatures, and render them so absolutely miserable; so without help, abandoned, so entirely depressed, that it could hardly be rational to be thankful for such a life" (Robinson Crusoe).

In the weeks that followed, this "wilderness" theme pursued me.  On July 18, I opened my Bible to my scheduled devotional reading, Isaiah Hosea 2:14, where God said "I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness and speak comfortably unto her."  Spurgeon explained this mystery by saying that "[God] promises to draw us apart, for there he can best deal with us, and this separated place is not to be a Paradise, but a wilderness, since in such a place there will be nothing to take off our attention from our God.  In the deserts of affliction the presence of the Lord becomes everything to us, and we prize his company beyond any value which we set upon it when we sat under our own vine and fig tree in the society of our fellows.  Solitude and affliction bring more to themselves and to their heavenly Father than any other means."  I found comfort in the realization that my experience was not unique.  Christ Himself was called into the wilderness to prepare for His ministry, and countless saints have followed in His footsteps.  Perhaps this loneliness and obscurity was intentional.  Perhaps God was "alluring and secluding" me for the purpose of reclaiming my heart and equipping me for my calling?

I decided that, if I hoped to thrive in my wilderness, I had to quiet my restless thoughts and open my heart to God's lessons. I had to stop staring blankly out of my window, indulging in feelings of loneliness and self-pity. I had to receive those countless hours spent nursing my babies as a gift from God's hand.  From then on, I made use of the time when my older children were occupied to feed my mind and spirit with excellent books and meditate on God's rich promises.  Through the course of the summer, I studied the redemptive sufferings of Job, laughed and marveled my way through N.D. Wilson's Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl, learned Christian doctrine from the pages of Augustine, escaped into the world of Jane Austen's Emma, and delighted my imagination with C.S. Lewis's Space Trilogy.  Each evening I would relish a walk in the woods, imagining what it was like for Adam and Eve to meet God in the cool of the evening and thanking Him for loving me enough to meet with me in this lonely place and be my teacher. 

Meatloaf and Manna

 And the whole congregation of the people of Israel grumbled against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness, and the people of Israel said to them, “Would that we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the meat pots and ate bread to the full, for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.”  Then the Lord said to Moses, “Behold, I am about to rain bread from heaven for you, and the people shall go out and gather a day's portion every day, that I may test them, whether they will walk in my law or not.
  (Exodus 16:4)

During the end of my high-risk pregnancy, I spent a lot of time obsessing over how I would feed my large family after the babies arrived. When my swollen legs gave out, I propped myself on a stool, where I could manage my false labor contractions, and stubbornly prepared a ridiculous number of meals.  Praising my own industry and perseverance, I imagined how easy it would be to pull a dozen  carefully labeled dinners from the freezer.  A few days after we returned from the hospital, I sent my oldest daughter to retrieve a casserole and was shocked by the announcement that all fifteen pounds of my beef dinners had been left in the unfinished portion of our basement to rot.  There were no words to capture my despair and anger over this loss.  How could God allow this wasteful mishap when our budget and schedule could least afford it?  Like the Israelites in the wilderness, I grumbled and fretted over His providence... 

In the weeks that followed, I learned a powerful lesson about God's provision.  Almost miraculously, our dinners appeared from the least likely sources.  Busy neighbors, friends I hadn't seen in a decade, new acquaintances from a home school group, and even a local church lavished us with delicious meals.  Eventually I was able to laugh about the freezer fiasco. I admitted that, had I lived in the time of the Exodus, I would have been one of the Israelite mothers who doubted God's promise to provide daily bread.  Mostly likely I would have horded manna in every nook and cranny of my tent, only to find it filled with worms the next day.

 As we begin our twelfth year of homeschooling, I must actively recall the spiritual consolations and promises I claimed this summer.  My peaceful weeks of reading are fading into a distant memory.   Now my nursing hours are spent pleading with my three year old to try the potty, supervising Kinetic sand creations by my feet, giving directions for Egyptian History Pockets, clarify reading assignments in Eusebius, hollering instructions to my highschooler whose Calculus CD isn't working, and strategizing how I'll strip wet sheets, prepare dinner, and complete school before soccer practice. Many days I doubt whether I will have the physical, emotional, and mental stamina needed to teach six children while caring for infant twins.  Like Solomon, I cry out to God on a daily basis for "an understanding mind to govern this great people" He has entrusted to me.  When doubts threaten to overwhelm me, I recall the words of St. Augustine I read this summer.  In astonishing humility he wrote, "[This work is]...a great and arduous undertaking, and one that, if difficult to carry out, it is, I fear, presumptuous to enter upon.  And presumptuous it would undoubtedly be, if I were counting on my own strength; but since my hope of accomplishing the work rests on Him who has already supplied me with many thoughts on this subject, I do not fear but that He will go on to supply what is yet wanting when once I have begun to use what He has already given...if [we] use freely and cheerfully what [we] have received...He will add to and perfect his gifts...just as that bread [in the miracle of the loaves and fishes] increased in the very act of breaking it, so those thoughts which the Lord has already vouch-safed to me with a view to undertaking this work will, as soon as I begin to impart them to others, be multiplied by His grace..." (On Christian Doctrine).

In her profound little book, Teaching From Rest, Sarah MacKenzie comments on this same miracle of the loaves and fishes, saying, "...[My family is]... a throng of hungry people in the desert, and I’m supposed to feed them.  On an ordinary Monday, I am in need of a miracle of biblical proportions. It isn’t that I have nothing, exactly.  I have my little basket.  I can read aloud pretty well.  I’m good at organizing things on paper.  I can make a decent pot of chili and I know how to push a vacuum.  I love my children with all of my being and I have a real desire to watch them grow to love and serve Him.  I don’t really have any idea how I’m supposed to tackle everything ahead of me in this day, this year, this decade when that’s all I’ve got.  It’s just a couple of loaves of bread and a few fish. Apparently, that’s all He needs. We are weary because we forget about grace.  We act as though God’s showing up is the miracle.  But guess what?  God’s showing up is the given.  Grace is a fact.  If you are being asked to feed a multitude with a tiny basket of loaves and fish, then bring your basket.  He starts with that.  Just like the crowd in the wilderness, which had been faithfully following Jesus for days, sitting at His feet, savoring His words, seeking Him earnestly, we do the same.  We bring our basket – whatever talents, skills, abilities we have – and we seek Him with everything we are.  He works the miracle…

Remember your true task.  Surrender everything.  Bring your loaves and your fish, even if you think them completely insufficient.  They are insufficient.  You are insufficient.  But His grace is not.  God is not limited by objective reality.  His yoke is easy and His burden is light.”

If I persevere in homeschooling my 8 children through their graduations, my sojourn in this "wilderness" will just exceed the 30 years Crusoe spent on his deserted island.  Although this prospect brings moments of trepidation, I am no longer planning my escape strategy or longing for rescue.

"I gave humble and hearty thanks that God had been pleased to discover to me that it was possible I might be more happy in this solitary condition than I should have been in the liberty of society, and in all the pleasures of the world; that He could fully make up to me the deficiencies of my solitary state, and the want of human society, by His presence and the communications of His grace to my soul; supporting, comforting, and encouraging me to depend upon His providence here, and hope for His eternal presence hereafter" (Robinson Crusoe).