Find Me Where The Wild Things Are
One of my friends is a speech and language pathologist working with children who have communication deficits and disorders. During the “new normal” of social distancing that COVID-19 has brought on, her direct support has shifted to teletherapy, where she has had to explore creative ways to engage students. In the process, she discovered the benefits of making the cover of Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are her Zoom background, which is one of the most recognizable children’s books covers of all-time. This small change allowed a way to support those with low language skills to retell the story over the computer screen.
To me as a little girl, the vivid, oversized images of the characters in Max’s imaginary land were somewhat scary. I was unconvinced that he could control his new friends. At any moment, their claws and teeth could turn their attention toward him. Even several decades later as an adult, I question its appropriateness as a bedtime story for young children. Because of that, I rarely purchase it as a gift for my friend’s children.
Over the years, due to eerie feelings associated with the book, when I think of “the wilderness”—the Desert of Sin the Israelites entered after being delivered from the hands of Pharaoh in Egypt—abstract manifestations of Where the Wild Things Are quickly rise to the surface. The notion of barren, dusty badlands are replaced with thick marsh and dying organisms that hide the exaggerated dangers of unpredictable happenings. Anticipatory grief of the worst possible scenarios and unforeseen sorrow are met with slithering savages. The wilderness’ manifestation into a distorted figment of my imagination makes me more aware of how much I simply cannot control, of how inadequate I am to will life to bow to all my plans. I want to crawl under the bed and hide, to escape the detachment from codependency’s comfort and predictability that needs to happen if I am to grow.
When withdrawal from ordinary social and relational connections weigh over me, God rewrites my misconceptions about the wilderness. The wilderness is a pivotal place. It is not necessarily a detour, but an “opportunity” to evaluate some of the undeveloped areas in your life and mine. In other ways, it can denote required correction intended for us to be finally receive the promises of God, even if the wrapping paper isn’t to our liking. Of course, this never means the associated growing pains are empty of intensity, trepidation, or even loss—but still, we have nothing to fear, for God has power and dominion over all the things lurking in the unknown.
My current reality has pierced some of the rawest pieces of who I am and who I am not. I have come to know that certain emotions can bully their way into the forefront of my psyche, often unexpectedly, exposing deep internal battles and anxiety. Generally, expressing the messiness of these feelings only happens once I can articulate them logically—a delicately balanced narrative of transparency, humor, and grit. Nope, not this time. Not right now. I find myself too far from conformity and pretense to go back, but oddly close to a potential course of action that remains as elusive as it is uncultivated. I am consistently tongue-tied, borrowing from rote prayers, African American spirituals, and biblical psalms between my tears and groans.
The wilderness work is a prerequisite to forging ahead. You can’t have one without the other. If, as it is said in recovery circles, “hardship is the pathway to peace,” then this is it. Jesus said, “Whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:27) It doesn’t get anymore straightforward than that. To land where God intends, to help and contribute how He desires, I must pursue sober-minded obedience. It is during the struggle where the power of the Holy spirit is manifested. In her book, Be Still My Soul: Reflections on Living the Christian Life, Elisabeth Elliott writes that there are only two choices: “The rule of heaven is “Thy will be done.” The rule of hell is “My will be done.”” In cooperation with the Holy Spirit, I can surrender to the One, the only one, who always has dominion over everything and everyone. Or I can retreat into the sick comfort of self- deception, where I feel in-charge and get to stubbornly cling to whatever seems right in my own eyes like the Israelites in Judges 21:25. God doesn’t force my hand. I can follow Him or camp in the harsh terrain of rebellion.
Even through all their endless grumbling while in the wilderness, when you get down to it the Israelites lacked nothing. The Lord says in Deuteronomy 29:5, “During the forty years that I led you through the wilderness, your clothes did not wear out, nor did the sandals on your feet.” Sadly, the Israelites remained a stiff-necked people, making disobedience an itinerant lifestyle choice. And I know that posture well because many of my previous missteps mirror the Israelites behavior, where I gorged myself on meals of selfishness instead of gratitude. But now being a little older, a little wiser, trying to learn from life in the wilderness, I do not want anything to distract me from fulfilling God’s purpose for me. I am resolved to march ahead with supreme confidence in Christ, intimately knowing that God is the Good Shepherd. Even amid many “I don’t knows,” I continue experiencing the peace and prosperity found only from embracing the will of God. It is not about chasing after favorable outcomes or the acquisition of skills to make me more marketable, upwardly mobile, or happy. It is just about embracing the intangible possessions found in a deeper intimacy with the Lord.