Marian Jordan - Wilderness Skills for Women

To
Mom and Dad:

Thank you for modeling an unwavering faith in God.

I am forever grateful to the many people who gave of their time, talents, and prayers in support of Wilderness Skills for Women. To my dear friends who loved me through my wilderness: Tonya, Anita, Angel, Toni, Lacey, Susannah, Leigh, Muriel, Manonne, and Letithank you for speaking God's truth to my heart and for always pointing me back to Jesus. To Catherine King: thank you for editing the manuscript and for always encouraging me through this journey.

A special thank-you to the board of Redeemed Girl Ministries (Matt and Jessica, Leti and Chaz, Jason and Susannah, Marc and Leigh, Ryan and Kim, and Jeff and Jenny). Your wisdom and support are priceless!

To the amazing women who allowed me to share their stories: Cristy, Catherine, Sarah, Amy, and Becky. Thank you, not only for your story but for your example. Each of you walked through your wilderness in a way that inspired me and I know will encourage others.

To the wonderful team at B&H Publishing: I'm so blessed to work with individuals who passionately love Jesus and who desire for women to know Him.

I want to thank my family. I love you guys. Mom and Dad, thank you for reminding me that God is not taking Maalox over my situation and for your example of faithfulness.

Finally, to my JesusYou are my Rock, Redeemer, and Refuge. I praise You, for Your promises are true and You are faithful!

I don't cry easily.

I'm not a girl who is moved to tears by sappy commercials or movies (except for the film Stepmom with Julia Robertswow, did I bawl during that one). I'm even unaffected by most of Oprah's programs and Extreme Home Makeover. I'm not saying I'm heartless, just not prone to weeping. But when I do cry, girls, let me just say that I AM THE UGLIEST CRIER IN THE ENTIRE WORLD! I've often thought there should be some kind of award for this. Perhaps People magazine could run a special issue. Instead of the 50 Most Beautiful People, they could publish, I don't know, let's say...the 50 Most Hideous Criers. I'm sure I'd rank in the top five.

For starters, I don't do simple tears.

You know, the dainty little single teardrop that flows quietly down a cheek? Nope, not this girl. I have two modes: my tears are guttural or they aren't at all. And when a cry is coming on, there is no stopping it. My weeping begins in my stomach and moves up my entire body until it finally reaches my eyes, where water equivalent of the Mississippi River is unleashed.

First, my chest begins to ache, and then my throat tightens, which is followed by the rounding of my shoulders forward into this hunchbacked position that my friend Tonya likes to call the accordion. It's a lovely scene. And then, my entire upper body begins to shakeuncontrollably. Technically, I think this state is called heaving sobs. Whatever it is, it isn't attractive. Finally, my face, my entire face, gets in on the action. I'm pressed for the right words here. Contorted? Sure. But disfigured is probably the better description. Like I said, hideous. I should know that I am quite the ugly crier because I had plenty of experience in this department last year. Just as a meteorologist can calculate rainfall percentages, likewise, I estimate my tear-fall in a six-month period last year reached a historic high for my entire life. Seriously, I had no idea my body could produce such an impressive volume of saline liquid.

So, why the waterworks? I believe, in nautical terms, this season of my life would be called the perfect storm:

Heartbreak

Rejection

Humiliation

Disappointment

Unmet desire

Loneliness

Despair

But friends, I simply like to call this season the wilderness.

Writing a book entitled Wilderness Skills for Women is the result of having lived it. I'll share more of my own story as well as tales of other women who've walked through the wilderness in the upcoming chapters, but until then I want to talk about the what and the why of the wilderness.

Throughout the Bible, a wilderness season is a time of testing, trying, and training an individual. It is often marked by a period of isolation, loneliness, temptation, sorrow, and waiting. Why? Circumstances that try us, train us. Situations that break us, shape us. Such is the wilderness. In the midst of the dark night of the soul, we are often miserable, but there, we are made. Transformed by the testing...if we pass the test, that is.

After weeks of living in the wilderness, something clicked. I realized if a wilderness is supposed to be a test, then I was failing. I was miserably failing to live out the faith I so readily professed.

The click occurred the day a friend offered me some prescriptive happiness. The breaking point, as I like to refer to it, occurred one afternoon as I lay on my bed in a FBMD. Translation: Full-Blown Meltdown. Girls, you know you've been there! Emotions are spiraling into what I love to call the crazy place, and the tears, oh the tears, they are full-on.

So, I was in a FBMD when my friend walked into my bedroom one afternoon, saw the mess I was in, and in the desperation of the moment offered me some happy pills. I thought, Drugs? Me? I'm not clinical or chemical; there isn't a medical reason for this. I'm just having a really bad week. OK...six weeks. Make that nine. When she made the offer, I burst into even more tears, and I saw, perhaps for the first time, what an emotional wreck I'd allowed myself to become.

Seeing myself through her eyes, I saw a girl who didn't seem to have joy. A woman who didn't have assurance that the future was filled with hope, and, therefore, she was living in the pit of despair. I saw a pathetic, broken-down, miserably sad woman who obviously didn't believe that God was in control or had a purpose in her heartbreak.

But I did believewith all of my heart, by the way. I just wasn't choosing to live out what I believed; therefore, my emotions were ruling the day, and I was in the crazy place more often than I care to admit. And do you want to know the worst part? The real tragedy was my witness. My fretful and fearful response to my situation was speaking volumes to a watching world about my faith in my God.

Click.

This is a test.

Click.

I think I'm in danger of flunking this one!

My future joy and happiness lay either in the hands of a pharmaceutical company or the Lord God Almighty. Right then and there, I jumped out of bed, went to my bathroom, washed my face, and took a long hard look at myself. Staring at the broken reflection of myself in the mirror, I realized I needed to start walking by faith. Or rather, to start practicing what I preach.

Oh. Yes, by the way, I think I failed to mention one minoryet-crucial detail. The miserable, crying, pitiful girl, who was curled up in the fetal position in the FBMD, was none other than yours truly, the Bible teacher. That's right, I sooooooooo love confessing this nugget. I was the one who week in and week out taught others the Word of God and encouraged them to place their hope in God, to believe God for the impossible, and to trust God when life is difficult. I was