Oh, how dreadful are those seasons when the heart longs to speak of Christ, yet the words seem to hide from me. The desire is present and overwhelming, yet the page remains silent. Even in this, Christ has not changed. His worth is never measured by the strength of my expression, nor by its absence. Neither is His faithfulness diminished by my weakness. Christ receives both the eloquent preacher and the weary saint alike, whose only cry is, “Lord, help me.” 

Almost inevitably, there are days when I feel unable to draw near to Christ, only to discover that He has not ceased drawing near to me. Oh, how poorly have I judged Christ’s nearness time and again, attempting to measure it by the warmth of my affections instead of the certainty of His promises. How foolishly I’ve thought that my zeal for the Lord was the measure by which I had communion with Him, forgetting that my hope rests not in the strength of my devotion; it rests in the strength of His faithfulness. 

Yet in those days when all seemed cold, gray, and bleak, I was illumined with the truth that Christ’s mercies are new every morning, that His grace is sufficient, that His promises remain sure because He cannot lie, and that my Lord does not change. He is the same yesterday, today, and forevermore. Though my words hide from me even when the desire is there, His Word remains. It is in those seemingly dry days that His grace finds me and points me to His Word where I behold His glory, His majesty, and His love. 

It is as if I am walking wearily, parched, in need of His grace to press on, and oh, how Christ never fails me. He is the Living Water, and I find myself satisfied entirely in Him. While my words hide from me, and the page appears blank, the season dry and barren, I find that He draws me back to His Word time and again, to be filled with the glorious truths of the gospel. To fly to the bleeding Savior, who has washed me thoroughly of my sin. To behold the Bread of Life that came down from heaven to supply all that I need. The Bright and Morning Star who has brought such glorious light, hope, and salvation, and has put an end to the dark night of my sin. The Good Shepherd who leads me, provides all my needs, and keeps me. Though my sin-stained hands often fail to cling to Him, His nail-pierced hands never fail to uphold me. 

What shall I say of prayer in such seasons? How often my lips have been slow, my thoughts scattered and fleeting, and my heart unable to rise above the dust. I come before the throne of grace with little more than sighs and groans, ashamed that I have so little to offer my Lord. Yet He never has despised the trembling petitioner. He is the very One who taught the publican to cry, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” He never ceases to receive those whose prayers seem scarcely more than broken whispers. What an Advocate I have, who ever lives to make intercession for His people. He is not wearied by my frailty. Even when I do not know how to pray as I ought, He remains the faithful High Priest, presenting to the Father what my heart cannot rightly express.

Oh, how patient is my Savior. I have often expected Him to grow weary of my repeated weakness, yet every fresh discovery of my need has only revealed another fresh display of His compassion. I find no shadow of turning in Him, though I have found much in myself. My heart has wandered, my affections have cooled, my faith has staggered, but Christ remains steadfast. The Rock upon which I stand has never shifted beneath my feet. If my salvation rested upon the constancy of my love, I should have perished long ago. It rests not upon anything I can muster, but upon the constancy of His covenant, sealed with His precious blood, secured by His perfect and finished work, and upheld by His almighty power.

Therefore I shall not despair when the days are quiet and the soul feels barren. The gardener does not cut down the vine because it bears little fruit in winter, for he knows that hidden life yet remains. So too, my Lord continues His gracious work, though I cannot always perceive His hand. He prunes that I may bear more fruit. He humbles that I may cling more closely to Him. He empties my hands of confidence in self that He might fill them with a richer apprehension of Himself. Blessed is every providence that leaves me with less of self and more of Christ. 

At last, when my pilgrimage here is finished, I shall see with perfect clarity what I now behold only by faith. Every dry season shall prove to have been governed by His perfect wisdom. Every sorrow shall testify to His fatherly kindness. Every tear shall proclaim the faithfulness of the Lamb who never lost one of those whom the Father has given Him. Then and only then will my faltering tongue be loosed forever to sing the praises of Him who loved me long before I ever loved Him, who sought me when I wandered, who kept me when I was unable to keep myself, and who shall present me faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy. 

Until that blessed day, let me not seek for stronger feelings, swifter words, or greater strength, but for a clearer sight of Christ. Let me find myself coming time and again to sit at the foot of the cross where every fear is silenced, every accusation answered, and where every weary soul is invited to rest. The soul that flies to Him shall never hunger, nor shall the darkness remain when His light causes it to flee, neither shall there be any emptiness, for He fills all in all. He is enough. He has always been more than enough for my soul. He shall forever be enough. Therefore I will hope in Christ Jesus, for with Him there is steadfast love and abundant redemption.