The Journey Into the Wilderness

One of the hardest things about where I’m at right now is the complicated emotions that I face on any given day and the array of thoughts I struggle with. I’m frequently finding myself caught in the tension of how tragic and traumatic this situation is- where an elder family member sexually abuses a younger one and everyone within arms reach of either is thrown into a never-ending chaos. Except in my case, it’s a tension between my father- who I love, and my son- who I love more. 

Honestly, the biggest thing I’ve come to find some inner peace with is relating it to my divinity school days, with the thought of “I’m living my own wilderness.” And remembering that Jesus, too, spent time in the wilderness. 

For Jesus, the wilderness was a time of temptation, loneliness, and despair. It was 40 days of deep emotional struggle and discomfort before he was able to step into his calling. Before he was able to step into a place where tremendous growth could happen. 

I’m finding that the wilderness is where I am now—lost in the reality of what my father has done and the shattering of a vision of my family I have always held dear. I’m realizing that I don’t have the close- kit supportive family that I thought I did, my dad's actions have caused a significant amount of real pain, with no immediate end in sight, and we are now left to pick up the pieces, and find a new way forward.  It’s a rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions competing for my attention and changing as quickly as the tides. At first, I questioned everything I believed in. How could a man I knew and loved so much do this? Why now when it never happened to me? Will my son be okay? How do I manage the grief they both feel and find meaningful ways of supporting them? Especially when society demands I care only for one and forget the other. 

It’s a journey of grief. Of missing what could have been and knowing that things should have been different. Of realizing that my family wasn’t as safe or as stable as I would have hoped for. And of realizing that I have to sit with those feelings and live into that grief, even when I feel like it will break me. 

Life in the wilderness

I’m struggling with the realization that I’m likely to be living in this wilderness for a while. And I probably need to be. It has stripped me bare and is making me confront things I’d rather not acknowledge exist. I’m feeling things it hurts to name, much less feel. 

Depression is real and can cloud your vision, making it hard to know which way to turn. So can fear. When you feel like you’re walking through a thick fog with your feet stuck in quicksand, fearful that you will soon have to run from the next shoe dropping, it’s hard to find hope. Or any good feeling at all. It’s much easier to look at the disappointments around you and become engulfed with them, riding through each one, simply trying to keep your head above water. Fighting your way out takes too much effort and you know the next wave is just around the corner. That’s where I’m at. 

But, it’s in this wilderness life that I am reminded of the few things that give me comfort while living in it.

Humanity is complex. We like to think of situations like this as black or white, good vs. evil, but life isn’t that simple. Human beings are flawed at best and broken at worst, and every one of us is just one step away from making the biggest mistake of our lives, with no idea of what might push us there. While this doesn’t excuse the behavior of my father, it does help me not judge him and remember that he is a broken individual struggling with his own issues and carrying his own burdens. I’m better served to leave the judgment up to God and grant compassion in the places I can and grace when I cannot. 

I’m reminded that I have to walk through this wilderness. No one can do it for me, and the only way out of it intact in the end is to go directly through it. But there are small victories along the way- feeling a little lighter one day, experiencing joy in the midst of the hard the next, getting to laugh with the kids and feel normal- even if just for a second or two. Things that remind me that healing is possible and give me hope. 

This isn't the end of the story, but it’s a hard chapter that’s pushing me to face some tough choices.

Wandering in The Wilderness

The book of Isaiah reminds us (43:18-19) that we are to "Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past. 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." And I am ever so slowly starting to believe that God can make a way through even this.

I’m learning to hold onto hope. It’s not always easy to see, but it’s there, like a flickering light in the distance, guiding me through the storm. It often doesn't look how I expect it to, but comes in small realizations of ways forward and a quiet peace at the end of a long day. I’m starting to realize that this wilderness journey isn’t just about enduring pain—it’s about discovering something new. What if, on the other side of all this, I come out stronger? More grounded in who I am and what I truly value? The wilderness has a way of shaking us up and forcing us to look inward, asking questions we might otherwise avoid. And though it’s unpredictability, we get to experience the world around us in new and transformed ways.

I'm learning that life is full of uncertainty. It’s easy to try to control things when everything feels chaotic, but sometimes the best thing is to simply trust the process and embrace the unknown. I don’t have all the answers, and that’s okay. Sometimes not having the answers is a form of grace protecting me from things I'm not ready to deal with yet. And sometimes, it allows me quiet moments to breathe and just be.

The Path to Healing

Healing doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a slow, patient process—like walking through the wilderness itself. Some days it feels like nothing is changing, but I’m learning that even small steps matter. Recognizing and accepting my feelings—no matter how painful—has been a vital part of reclaiming my peace. By walking through this difficult time, I’m finding a new kind of strength, one I didn't know I had. It’s not the kind of strength that comes from avoiding pain, but the kind that comes from facing it head-on and choosing to keep moving forward.