By the fourth day of my own wilderness immersion experience, the hunger in my stomach had quieted—but another kind of hunger had awakened. Alone in the Pacific Northwest with only basic skills and a small fire to keep me company, I found myself stripped of the noise and comforts that usually cushion my life. What remained was a deeper ache, a longing for God that had been buried beneath the pace of ordinary days.
Scripture tells this story repeatedly. Moses, Elijah, John the Baptizer, and Jesus himself all stepped into wild places— sometimes for preparation, sometimes for renewal, sometimes for a whole way of life. The wilderness has always been God’s classroom. It is where distractions fall away, where identity is clarified, where the Spirit speaks in ways we can finally hear.
Jesus’ forty days in the Judean desert were not simply a test of endurance. They were a threshold. A place where self-reliance gave way to Spirit-reliance. A place where temptation revealed truth. A place where mission was forged. John’s long ministry in the desert was another kind of edge—an intentional life of simplicity and cultural deprivation so he could see clearly what others could not.
And edges still find us today. Sometimes they look like isolation, uncertainty, or loss. Sometimes they look like the inner terrain we’re forced to face when the world slows down. These edges are uncomfortable, but they are holy ground. They reveal what we cling to—and what God is inviting us to release. The wilderness, whether external or internal, is never meant to leave us the same. Something truer, humbler, and more Spirit-shaped emerges.
May this summer at Camp Emmaus and the weeks ahead invite us to our own wilderness edges—where God still whispers, still forms, still calls us into the people we are becoming.
Respectfully in Christ,
Randall Westfal
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