The Sacred Pause: When God Leads Us Through the Desert
There are seasons in life when everything slows without our permission—when God presses pause and we are left standing still, unsure of what comes next. I have learned that these pauses are rarely gentle. They arrive unannounced, disrupting our plans, interrupting our momentum, and dismantling the illusion that we are in control. At first, they feel like loss. Like failure. Like a door slammed shut with no explanation. For me, that pause came through illness.
My body became the boundary I could no longer cross. The life I was living—full, busy, outward-moving—suddenly came to a screeching halt and narrowed to excruciating pain, doctors’ appointments, treatment therapies, and long days of waiting for my life, as I knew it, to come back.
Strength gave way to weakness. Certainty dissolved into questions. Progress halted. I found myself in a desert season, stripped of productivity and purpose as I had defined them. The familiar landmarks were gone. The horizon looked bleak and the same in every direction.
The desert is loud in its silence. In that stillness, unanswered prayers echoed like empty sand. I prayed for healing, for restoration, for a quick return to who I used to be. Three and a half years I waited and wandered in the desert. But God did not rush. Instead, He stayed. Slowly, I realized the pause was not a punishment—it was an invitation.
In the desert, God removes what we lean on so we can discover what truly sustains us. I could no longer rely on strength, independence, or busyness. I had to learn to live on grace, one day at a time. Like manna, it came daily—never in excess, always enough. At my lowest point, I finally surrendered and told Him to do with me as He willed.
The illness taught me patience where I once demanded speed; humility where I once relied on self-sufficiency; and trust where I once needed answers.
What felt like stagnation was actually preparation.
Beneath the surface, unseen roots were growing. In the quiet, God sharpened my hearing. In the weakness, He clarified my identity—not by what I could do, but by whose I was.
The pause revealed compassion I didn’t know I carried; empathy born from pain, and a deeper understanding of suffering that books and sermons had given me but to which I barely paid attention in the past.
And then, without announcement, the desert began to bloom, albeit slowly.
Nothing short of a miraculous healing did come—but more importantly, so did calling. I emerged from that pause changed, no longer chasing the life I had before, but stepping into the life God was shaping all along. The illness that once felt like an ending became a beginning. What I thought was a detour became direction. God transformed my pain into purpose and my waiting into witness.
I now understand that God’s pauses are not empty spaces. They are sacred classrooms. They teach us obedience when the path is unclear, faith when the outcome is hidden, and surrender when control is impossible. They prepare us for what cannot grow in comfort.
If you find yourself in a pause today—an illness, a loss, a season of waiting—know this: the desert is not devoid of God. He is present, providing and preparing the way forward. Trust the pause. Honor the ending. Welcome the becoming for God knows what is best for you and He is always faithful.
“Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.” -
Isaiah 43:18-19
