Feeling Prickly
I live in a desert. It’s very apparent here that water is life. Rain is infrequent, and I’m always amazed at the tiny weeds and wild flowers that spring to life after the slightest drizzle. However, anything with any more staying power than a weed must protect itself if it wants to survive in the desert. I once took a desert survival course where the instructor recommended always carrying a knife and some gloves whenever you go hiking; because if you ever were to get lost and were without water, you could cut a slice of cactus and suck the water out. This, hopefully, could buy you some time to be rescued-if, of course, you could get past the cactus needles. This is why desert plants are so guarded-fortressed by needles, prickles and spines. They protect themselves from wildlife that would otherwise suck the life right out of them. Even an innocent passerby gets the message “Stay away! There isn’t enough here for the both of us. If you try to take what’s mine, you’ll certainly regret it.”
I can relate. Lately I’ve been feeling a little prickly. I feel the weight of all my responsibilities, both those that are legitimate and those that I’ve put upon myself without reason, and cry “there just isn’t enough!” As an introvert whose not been taking adequate time alone, my internal resources feel as scarce as water in the desert, and everyone seems to want a piece of me-husband, kids, home, employer, church, the kids’ schools, family, friends-even the dog needs something from me! So, out come the prickles. I want to lock myself in my room and scream “Leave me alone!” Relying on my own resources to make sure everything turns out alright, I start to hoard what I perceive is mine, storing it up to get through the brutal dry season. I guard my time, my emotions, my energy. I lash out at my family because I’m afraid that despite how hard I’m working, it may not be enough, and I will be found inadequate.
Contrast this with a description of a man (or woman) found in Jeremiah 17:7-8
But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.
This tree has no need for prickles. Yes, its bark provides some protection from evaporation, bugs and animals (it would be foolish and grossly unhealthy to have no boundaries whatsoever), but since its roots are fed by a continual stream of water, those things are no lethal threat. It can afford to lose a leaf or two. Heck, it can probably afford to lose a limb or two. It benefits people with shade and fruit, even in the dry times. A person such as this can afford to be generous with her time, energy, and money. She can risk loving others, truly loving them the way Jesus loved, without regard for whether or not she will receive anything in return because she gets what she really needs from the source of life.
What’s the difference between the cactus and the tree? The verse says trust. When I worry and choose to “just take care of” all the things I’m not trusting God for, I set myself up as a little goddess over my own little world. I substitute business and striving for the time alone with God that He designed me to need. When I inevitably realize that I’m not cut out for this goddess gig, I start to fret, to cultivate fear and resentment, exiling myself to the desert. Far from the streams of living water that could provide me with the very things I crave, I have two choices: grow spines and survive the wilderness; or humble myself to rest and repentance, quietness and trust, and let the water start to flow.