Looking for the audio version of this post? Click here! Also, don’t miss the special announcement at the end of this post!

All around me, the world is drying up. 

We’ve finally reached the true apex of summer here in Arkansas, and the defining characteristic of this time of year is blistering heat.  Almost before the sun can clear the horizon, it’s already evaporated the morning freshness.  By mid-afternoon, its direct rays seem laser-focused on our corner of the world, and our temperatures soar well over ninety degrees with a heat index that can be ten or fifteen degrees higher.  Even the nights are uncomfortable—warm and muggy, without clouds or wind.

This is the time of year when the weather finally begins to take its toll on the natural world as well.  When I step outside, I notice the changes.  Heat drifts in shimmering waves above the ground, and the grass that was rank and verdant has withered into crispy stalks that crumble into dust under my feet.  The sky, so impossibly blue in early spring, now seems to have faded as well, as if bleached by the sun.  Although autumn is far away, yellowed leaves are dropping from some of the trees—a survival tactic to conserve precious water.  Even the animals are more subdued—the birds seek the shade of the forest, the deer linger in the deep woods, and the squirrels stretch themselves on shady tree limbs, hoping for a reprieve from the heat.  

All of these signs tell me that the summer is turning stale, that the promise of the growing season has dwindled to the sweltering monotony of these gasping summer days.  But the most obvious indicator—the true barometer of when summer’s full power has arrived—is found behind my house…where Ten Mile Creek is drying up.

This stream runs through our property, a silver thread in the tapestry of natural beauty that surrounds us.  And for most of the year, it’s an unmistakable presence.  In fact, when rainfall is frequent in the spring and fall, the creek often floods in dramatic ways.  I’ve watched its turgid currents rip through our backyard—carving gouges in the landscape, carrying full-grown trees downstream, and once even knocking my father off his feet and sweeping him some distance before he was able to maneuver to the bank.  Even when it’s not flooding, the creek is still a significant feature in the area—moderating the climate, nourishing the sycamores and birches that throng its banks, and providing a place of rest and refreshment for wildlife.  

But at this time of year, the combination of heat and lack of rainfall is merciless.  And as a result, the creek that is so robust and boisterous most of the year condenses to a tired trickle.  Its bed is merely clammy mud in spots, its waters lukewarm and stagnant.  Even though I see this sight every summer, it’s still disconcerting when I stand on its ever-widening banks and see the inches-deep stream dragging itself along.  It’s an undeniable image of just how serious the summer dryness is.  And it reminds me of another stream that dried up—one described in the Bible as the hiding place of the prophet Elijah.  

The story is fascinating.  Living in a horribly chaotic and dark part of Israel’s history, Elijah was commissioned by God to deliver a message of judgment to wicked King Ahab:  “As the Lord, the God of Israel, lives, before whom I stand, there shall be neither dew nor rain these years, except by my word” (1 Kings 17:1 ESV).  Immediately afterward, Elijah found himself in need of a refuge (possibly because of Ahab’s revenge), and God gave him one.  “[H]ide yourself by the brook Cherith” (1 Kings 17:3 ESV). 

This chapter of Elijah’s life is a showcase of God’s miraculous providence.  He was completely alone in the wilderness, sleeping under the stars, with no possessions, distractions, or friends—yet he was never forgotten or abandoned by the Lord.  With infinite loving care, God provided a brook to give Elijah fresh water and even commissioned ravens to bring him food twice a day!

The Bible doesn’t specify how long this lasted.  We don’t know if Elijah lived in the wilderness for a week, a month, six months, or a year.  But what we do know is this:  as the foretold drought intensified, one day the brook dried up.

Imagine how Elijah must have felt.  After all, Israel is a very arid country, and he was far removed from civilization.  His key to survival in the dry, parched wilderness was this one brook—likely the only source of water for many miles.  Imagine how anxiously he must have watched it, how desperately he must have prayed.  And then envision the morning he awoke to find that the last thin trickle had congealed into sluggish mud.  The brook—the symbol of God’s care for him—was gone.  

I can understand his pain.  And I think you probably can too.  Because let’s face it—we’ve all had times when the brook dried up.  We prayed that the very worst thing would not happen—and it did.  We depended on our job to feed our family—and we were fired.  We needed that hope—and it was squelched.  We reached out to our friends—and they turned away.  We took care of our bodies—and we were rewarded with ill health.  We sought God—and He seemed to have disappeared.  Like Elijah, we’ve all mourned the mud and wept on the banks of a dried-up stream.

And in these moments, what’s worse than the immediate pain, or loss, or suffering, is the confusion, the doubt, the distrust.  After all, we’re here at God’s command.  We thought we had witnessed miracles, but now we begin to wonder.  We believed we were in His will, but now doubt slithers inside our souls.  We wrestle with the problem of pain and the science of suffering, but all we really want to know is why—why God would lavish gifts of grace on us and then suddenly, capriciously, unexpectedly, yank them away.  

The bank of a dried stream is no place for platitudes.  When you’re left staring at the withered husks of your faith, you don’t need Sunday-school soundbites or neatly packaged pseudo-answers.  So today, it’s with great compassion and humility that I share with you, not tidy answers, but the grains of truth I’ve learned firsthand from standing on the banks of my own dry streams.  

First of all, please hear this:  God hasn’t abandoned you.  This is neither His punishment nor His neglect.  Just as part of living in Arkansas is hot summers that make my creek disappear, part of living in this world is experiencing spiritual dry spells.  So when your stream dries up—when the provision disappears, the prayers seem to go unheard, and the promise lingers unfulfilled—remember that “whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him” (Hebrews 11:6b ESV).  These are the two touchstones of belief—first, that God exists in sovereignty and omnipotence, and second, that He does not turn away from His children.  No matter what streams have dried up in your life, God is still God, and God is still good.  This is the essence of faith.  

So then what is the explanation?  If God hasn’t turned away—if He is still God and still good—why is this happening?  It’s counterintuitive, but often, God allows dry spells for a profound reason—to move us into the middle of a miracle.  If you don’t believe me, look again at the story of Elijah.  His tale doesn’t end with a discouraged man staring at a dried-up stream.  Instead, God told him to go to a widow in the town of Zarephath.  To tell the rest of the story would make this post far too long (although I encourage you to read it for yourself in 1 Kings 17), but suffice it to say that this woman was at the end of her hope, and through Elijah, God restored her faith.  Not only did she shelter him for the remainder of the drought, but he provided a tangible blessing from God during some of the worst storms of her life.  The miraculous working of God was far more manifest than it ever was next to the brook Cherith.

My friends, when one door of opportunity or provision closes, you’re not being retired.  You’re being reassigned!  And sometimes the only way God can push us forward into the next assignment He has for us is to remove other options—to “tear up the nest,” in the memorable phrase of missionary and author Don Schulze.  Think of it this way:  if the creek hadn’t dried up, Elijah might have been strongly tempted to linger there for years or even for the rest of his life, enjoying the solitude and sustenance.  At the very least, it would have been a struggle to put aside his complacency and heed the calling of God.  But by drying up the brook, by “tearing up the nest,” God jolted the prophet from his apathy, and He made sure there was no retreating.  Thus, what seemed like an act of cruelty or neglect on His part was actually a loving gesture—a gentle nudge in the direction of destiny.  And that is so often true for us as well.

That brings us to the final promise to cling to:  the dry spell will end.  Even as I stare at the ruins of Ten Mile Creek now, I know that the creek will flow again.  Sometime in September, the equinoctial rains will drench my land, and the creek will be imitating the muddy Mississippi once more.  The same is true in our lives; God promises that no drought lasts forever.  The driest and most unpromising circumstances can still be resurrected in His hands.  And even if He chooses not to restore this particular “brook,” He will lead you to a new one—a new source of His grace, a new place of growth in Him.

Seasons of drought are painful.  When we wander the banks of the dried-up creek, we’re pelted with questions about everything we thought we believed.  I know; I’ve been there.  But today, I’m encouraging you to never let what you see change what you know.  Dare to have a faith in God that hangs on even in spite of emotion, or circumstances, or appearances.  Dare to grip His grace with both hands and believe that even when it looks as if He’s turned away, He hasn’t.  And then watch Him work—because sometimes, a dried-up streambed is actually a trail to a miracle.

Did you enjoy this post? What miracles have you seen emerge from the “dry streams” in your life? Let me know in the comments! Also, if you’d like to listen to the audio version of this post, click here!

BIG NEWS: it’s with great excitement that I announce to you that my original short story, “Unlocked,” has been published online by Short Fiction Break!  When Taylor becomes quite literally trapped in her own mind, her life as a prisoner is reduced to the singular frantic need to escape.  But when a stranger appears in her cell with the worst news she’s ever received, could freedom be closer than she thinks?  Please give my story a read by clicking here and let me know what you think!