Into The Wilderness (Pt.3)

Ever since that Sunday, I’ve been pondering a single decision—

To enter the wilderness, must I first leave your body?

The small group leader rejected my request to give a personal testimony but said he could read my article before Wednesday.

But after I sent it, it remained unread.

I had already come to understand the kind of person he was—someone who stays safe, does good within his comfort zone, and treats faith as a form of behavioral management. So even though I felt discontent, I wasn’t surprised.

Although I truly don’t understand how he manages to ignore my messages yet greet me without batting an eye every time we meet.

In the group chat, he sent out the week’s discussion questions.

Reading them made me feel sick—

“Can you give an example of something you had to give up for the sake of following Jesus?”

How self-absorbed must someone be to answer such a question without shame?
And how hardened must someone be to ask it?

The essence of John chapter 12 isn’t about how much we give up for the Lord, but about our very existence being hidden in Christ’s glory.

A seed falls to the ground and dies—that is its duty. If it still comes back and boasts of its “sacrifice,” it shows not only that it never intended to die, but that it seeks to defile the glory of Christ.

Perhaps, in their eyes, the glory of Christ really is that light—as weightless as a feather.

I reluctantly went to the Wednesday night meeting, to the cell group led by that same leader.

All evening, I curled up with a cushion in the corner of the couch and said nothing.

I listened to their discussion, knowing that the moment I opened my mouth, I would wound them.

Sometimes I had to resist hurling a string of questions that would pierce through their laziness and self-numbing.

Other times I held back the rising wave of sarcasm in my mind that could shred through their self-righteousness.

I didn’t feel like figuring out how to phrase things gently—because I simply couldn’t pretend to share any resonance with them.

So I chose silence, complete avoidance.

When the gathering ended, I left quickly.

I wandered to a deserted playground near home, sat on a swing, rocking back and forth, staring blankly at the sparse passersby in the night.

Lord, in Gethsemane you asked the disciples to watch with you. They listened because they knew who you were.

But I’m the least in the church—pastors, elders, group leaders, they all believe they have authority over me. Even the so-called spiritually “mature” believers see me that way.

So who am I to say to anyone, “Will you watch with me?”

I took out my phone and sent The Outage to two brothers I considered more discerning, whose hearts weren’t quite so hard.

I don’t know if they ever actually read it. I haven’t heard back so far.
Just like in Gethsemane—no one truly watched with you.

Then, Friday night, I opened YouTube and saw three video recommendations—

“Why Do the Chosen Often Experience Loneliness and Trials?”
“Biblical Wisdom: Don’t tell anyone what you are going to do!”
“Your calling is too precious—Don’t throw holy things to the dogs!”

…And I froze.

These three suggestions were like manna in the wilderness, pinpointing exactly the hunger and struggle I had carried for two weeks.

So I opened my phone, deleted the unread message to the group leader on WhatsApp, and sent a simple thank you to the two brothers.

Saturday afternoon, I once again crawled out of my dreams. Once my mind cleared, I felt a long-lost surge of strength—a teenage fire and lightness stirring again deep in my soul.

I will not enter the wilderness alone.

God will meet me there, and train me Himself.