“O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is.” —Psalm 63:1
The Wilderness of Judah
The wilderness of Judah stretches wild and ancient, a land of stone and silence shaped by heat and time. This was David’s refuge when he fled for his life; and it was here, among dry cliffs and hidden springs, that Psalm 63 was born.
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| Thomas & I on the Snake Path at Masada (another dry & barren place) |
I remember standing in the wilderness at En Gedi, amazed at how a desert can hold life in ways easy to miss. The sun pressed hot against the rocks, and the air carried the sharp, dry scent of dust; yet life moved quietly across the landscape. A Tristram starling darted past, its wings flashing blue-black in the sunlight.
Our guide stopped beside an acacia tree, its bent and twisted limbs shaped almost like a man bowed in prayer. Beneath it, a caper bush clung to the cliffside, roots driven deep into cracks of stone. “You can live off this plant,” he explained. “It gives what you need.” A little farther on, a terebinth tree stood in stillness, its broad leaves lifting toward the sky—the same tree, our guide said, often painted in ancient art with ibexes stretching upward to nibble its branches.
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| A caper bush |
The desert may not look alive at first glance, but look closer and you’ll see it—green shoots pushing through stone, roots spreading to find what little water there is, branches lifting toward the sun. Life here does not survive by chance. It survives by returning again and again to what gives it life.
And in that quiet persistence, there is something almost triumphant, as if even the wilderness cannot stop what God has purposed to live. That, too, is how David survived.
David’s Wilderness Longing
David wandered in the wilderness, hunted and heart-weary, far from the sanctuary, cut off from other visible reminders of God’s presence. Yet his soul turned toward God with the same determined need as that caper bush gripping the cliffside, refusing to be uprooted—because he knew where life was found:
“To see Thy power and Thy glory, so as I have seen Thee in the sanctuary.” —Psalm 63:2
He remembered what his eyes had once seen in the sanctuary—God’s power, God’s glory. And his heart longed for it again—not with despair—but with hope. Because he knew the One he sought had not changed.
Though his body craved safety and his spirit felt the weight of exile, he would not allow the wilderness to silence his worship. The God he sought was the same God he had already tasted and seen. His thirst was not empty longing; it was faith reaching for the goodness he had already known, resting in the confidence that the One who had satisfied him before would surely satisfy him again.
Your Wilderness May Not Look Like David’s
Your wilderness may not be sun-scorched cliffs, but you know how it feels—prayers that seem unanswered, disappointments that weigh heavy, or the quiet ache of some unspoken longing. Yet even this is mercy. These seasons do not create the need for God—they uncover it, peeling away false comforts and reminding us that no success, no human answer, can satisfy a heart made for Him.
That is why David’s words feel so alive with longing. He is not whispering, “I know I should want You.”He is crying, “I do. My soul thirsteth for Thee.” The wilderness brought his ache to the surface, but even that ache was a gift, for it proved his heart still knew where life was found—and he knew the One who delights to give it.
This is where abiding begins, not with perfect certainty, but with honest turning ... trusting that the God who awakens thirst is the same God who satisfies it.
What Seeking Looks Like in the Wilderness
Seeking God in the wilderness rarely feels dramatic. More often it is quiet, almost hidden: prayers whispered in the middle of ordinary moments, Scripture opened in faith when feelings seem far behind. Yet this is how fellowship grows, because the God who invites us to seek Him delights to be found.
Picture David there, far from the sanctuary, letting memory pull him back: “To see Thy power and Thy glory, so as I have seen Thee in the sanctuary.” His thirst became prayer—not polished or rehearsed, but honest. He didn’t pretend to be strong; he poured out his longing, steadying his soul with what he already knew of God’s faithfulness. That memory held him when everything else shifted. And it gave him joy, because he knew the God he sought was the same God who had satisfied him before—and would again.
So it is for us.
Hardship, as unwelcome as it feels, can become holy ground when it presses us back to what is unshakably true: God is good, even here. He is sovereign, even when the path twists unexpectedly. And He is a good Father—wise, loving, kind—so that nothing touches us apart from His careful, purposeful hand.
We come to Him, then, not because every question has been answered, but because we know His heart. He is faithful. He is good. And even when the way feels hard, we do not come as the defeated—we come as dearly loved children, certain that even here—perhaps especially here—He can be trusted.
David knew this. He longed to see God’s glory again because he had seen it before, and that memory became hope. It gave him courage to keep thirsting, to keep praying, to keep reaching for the only One who could satisfy—the only One who brings joy, even in the wilderness.
Thirst That Leads to Life
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| A tamarisk tree in Israel |
The caper bush at En Gedi survives not by sinking deep roots into soil but by anchoring itself into the very rock, drawing moisture from places few would expect. So it is with the soul. Wilderness seasons are not only places of survival—they are opportunities to discover that God Himself is our joy, our strength, our true life.
This was David’s choice. His thirst was not just poetic longing; it was faith reaching for the goodness he already knew to be true. He remembered what he had seen of God’s glory, and that memory pulled him forward—not only to endure, but to hope. Even in the wilderness, his heart turned toward the One who satisfies, and that longing itself became joy, for he knew he sought the God who delights to be found.
A Call to the Thirsty
Perhaps you feel that same dryness now. Yet even the very thirst you feel is evidence of grace—God stirring your heart to look to Him, the One who never disappoints those who seek Him.
Think of David’s words again. He did not speak them from a place of strength but from desire: “My soul thirsteth for Thee.” And God welcomes that longing. He invites you to bring the thirst itself, for He alone delights to fill it.
Where does your soul feel dry? Even if all you can manage is a whispered, “O God, Thou art my God”—every honest turning helps you cling more firmly to the Rock that never moves.
Consider how you have already seen this God display His power and glory. May those moments of past faithfulness steady you now! Is there a Scripture promise that carried you before? Why not hold it close again, letting it reassure your heart of His love in whatever the present brings.
“My grace is sufficient for thee.” —2 Corinthians 12:9
“I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.” —Hebrews 13:5
Like the bush clinging to the cliffside at En Gedi, anchor yourself in Him with quiet confidence. The wilderness may not change overnight, but life always grows where the soul stays near the Source—and that life is joy, because the God you seek is good.
And He will not fail to satisfy.
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