The entire verse reads:
So obey the commands of the Lord your God by walking in His ways and fearing Him. For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land of flowing streams and pools of water, with fountains and streams that gush out into the valleys and hills. It is a land of wheat and barley; of grapevines, fig trees, pomegranates; of olive oil and honey.
Deuteronomy 8: 6-8
If you ask me where in this picture I would place myself, I would say that I am on that bit of narrow path you see up toward the top, where there are still brambles that line the road. And even though there is still a very real possibility that I could become ensnared, and conceivably entrapped in the wilderness for a while longer, I can now see. "What can you see?" you ask.
I see a glimpse of the Promised Land, my friend.
And as excited as I am about the fruity goodness that awaits me there, right now, I am more excited about exiting this wandering business. I've learned through the winding roads of my wilderness, and in this place I've had to endure the process of healing scars. When the briars seemed to be taller than I, when all light seemed to be choked out, when I had such little energy to cut away anything more, in the depths of darkness, though, I found grace. Perhaps one could say, I am a bit thankful for the wilderness, for teaching me about this grace phenomenon, which still confounds me a bit (a lot, actually), but I feel that I have a taste, a small grasp. I am learning.
As I re-read this post, over and over, I realize that at this time, it cannot be fully complete. My thoughts are still a bit jumbled because I am still so thick in the process. There are not formulated sentences that explain it all, but rather, just feelings, perhaps visual illustrations that can attempt to express what I cannot with words.
But in the promised land that I see, there is a Hand that guides me. It is gentle. It is kind. It is overwhelmingly good. There is hope. There is light. There is freedom from anger. There is freedom from despair, from grief, from the "I-will-never-measure-ups." There is confession and redemption. There is letting go and pouring out. There is a relinquishing of unhealthy fear and a deep reverence for my God.
There is love.
There is grace.