I commonly refer to 2006 as “the year from hell.” It all began when my husband lost his job and overnight I felt old, fat and poor. Each following month produced another catastrophe. Our home was hit by lightning, destroying a TV, telephones, and my computer. A medical issue catapulted us into the eye-opening maze of health insurance, plus I had an allergic reaction to penicillin while at a speaking event. And if things weren’t bad enough a church reneged on a ministry commitment, causing me a serious financial loss. 

On and on it went, relentlessly. Waiting for the next wallop, I curled up into a fetal position and prayed that Jesus would return. I was desperate for a drop of “living water” to restore my faith, my soul, and a desire to live. Job became my patron saint, and by September I fanaticized about running away from home. No plan or destination, merely—“Get me outta here!”

When rainstorms shroud my life the only thing I yearn for is safe, dry land. I don’t care if God is using the downpour to produce compassion, patience, iron-clad faith, or any other Christ-like quality. It hurts, I want it over—very simple. Whimpering I cry out, “Heavenly Daddy, make it stop. I know you are big enough.”

And there’s the rub. When you have an intimate relationship with the Celestial Papa you know he can stop the pain; his capability is not the obstacle. It’s his character we question, it’s the why that snags us. C. S. Lewis says it this way, “We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.”


I call this torture, God calls it pruning. I loathe the process, we both love the results.

My friend Virelle Kidder understands. In her book Meet Me At The Well she shares, “We all have locust seasons in life that leave us stripped mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. Whether the locusts attack our health, finances, job or family relationships, the result is the same. When the cloud finally leaves, little remains. Only God’s restoration will do. I needed it badly.” 

In my journal dated August 21, 2008 I have written, “During 2006 it felt as though locusts had infested every area of my life, and when they finally moved on I was stripped bare. I had nothing left. Only the "Life Giver" could breathe existence into my nostrils. His touch was the one thing that could transform my dust into pulsing flesh, and restore radiance to my ashen cheeks. I was a "Dead Man Walking" but now—Resurrection!! I feel akin to Lazarus.”

The locusts may be swarming in your life, or maybe they have vacated the premises leaving you naked and exhausted. Take heart Beloved, Jesus still has the power to roll away the stone, provide a healing stroke and whisper “Come Forth.”

If you are in a season of spiritual drought either due to life is beating you down or because your soul is dried up, understand that Jesus sees your pain and He hears your cry. He is not in heaven causally sipping a latte, or taking a nap. He hasn’t moved to another galaxy or deserted you. People sometimes give up on us, or make our grief worse. However, The Holy One is incapable of abandonment. He is the Perfect Papa and His love is very near.