This article was written in December of 2022.
One year ago, my family began a journey that drew me to empathize with the restless wanderings of the Israelites in the desert. It was our first holiday season invaded by a predator we’ve now been told will stalk us till a dying day. As turkeys roasted and pies cooled, the pursuit of this relentless, hard-hearted plague was on our heels as we begged God to part the seas of the unknown and lead us to a different destination, one without cancer.
Instead, I’ve slogged through the barren land of sterile hospital halls, death constantly looming all around. My body moving forward, bound by walls of unnerving, therapeutic quietude and waves of systemic beeping, to meet my loved one on the other side of the motorized parting of disinfected doors. I’ve sensed the temptation to be angry at God, but the presence of Immanuel (God with us) conquers that provocation with peace. I’m grateful for His presence because I perceive within myself a rising desire to protect my heart from the consequences of living in a fallen world. When this inclination becomes too powerful, Hebrews 3:7-9 comes to mind:
“…as the Holy Spirit says,
‘Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion,
on the day of testing in the wilderness,
where your fathers put me to the test
and saw my works for forty years.’”
The only reason my heart is not hard is because God has intervened to make it soft. I can only testify that in my years of knowing God, He has been, is, and will be eternally faithful; I know He will be faithful here as well. And I beseech Him, “Keep me close.” However, I am aware my heart is dry as I enter this holiday season, so I ask the Spirit of God to attend to me. To make me as the tree Jerimiah speaks of:
“…planted by water,
that sends out its roots by the stream,
and does not fear when heat comes,
for its leaves remain green,
and is not anxious in the year of drought,
for it does not cease to bear fruit.” Jeremiah 17:8
I feel my soul at rest in the oasis of peace that passes understanding. After entering the Stage IV wilderness and hearing doctors surprised by the aggressiveness of this strain, we have seen the miraculous halting of its power. Currently, treatment is working, and we know this reprieve was brought by the hand of God. I am grateful for the prayers from many, thankful for modern medicine and doctors who care, and mindful that even if everything changes—whether our dreams or our nightmares come true—that the peace that came to earth in the person of Jesus, remains with me in the driest moments of my life. Christ alone is the living water that can quench my parched soul.
When adverse moments feel like asphyxiation by grains of sand, I know the desert will not overtake me. I consider Jesus, who can transform shriveled hearts into gardens of life, so when I glimpse across the room and wonder how many Christmases are left with this one I love, I know that because of Jesus, even if earthly years feel cut short, an eternity awaits.
If you too are in a desert place this Christmas, I pray that you would know the faithfulness of God will not fail even if your faithfulness falters. He is the one who completes the works He begins (Philippians 1:6). May you sense His enduring presence with you.
If you don’t have the strength and nights feel silent, it is my prayer that the absolute miracle of Christmas is not lost on you. Peace (Jesus) came to earth and left his peace with us so that we can face the troubles of this fractured world, and know that Peace will return to make all things right.
Chara Donahue enjoys freelance writing, biblical counseling, and teaching. She is an educator, holds an MSEd, and is passionate about seeing people set free through God’s truths. She is the host of the podcast The Bible Never Said That and a regular contributor at iBelieve. Her words have appeared at Christianity Today, Crosswalk, (in)courage, and The Huffington Post. She longs to be a voice that says, “Hey we are in this together, and there is room for us all.”
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