An Invitation Into the Empty Spaces

“Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but, emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, He humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” Philippians 2:5-8 ESV

 I trudged silently, five paces behind my husband. Only the crunch of my steps in the snow would let him know I was still there. While I thought a walk in the woods with him would bring peace and inspiration, I could feel my disposition going from bleak to numb. See that day; we had eagerly set aside time to recover from the busyness of Christmas. Except that, the week leading up to this day, my head and heart were on an unnoticeable decline. I had forgotten to take the spaces where ‘quiet’ became available, not even a moment to breathe in God’s truth and peace. Instead, I filled myself with the gift giving and receiving, loud spaces, food and drinks. As the day progressed and procrastination set in, I began to focus on all the things that still needed to get done before the break ended, thus taking me down a spiral of disappointment and defeat.

I can’t go on this hike; I can’t relax—there were too many things to do, I thought. I wanted to stay home and sulk, but with what little time we had left to recapture the day, I finally agreed to go as night fell. I didn’t want to let him down but also didn’t want to expose what was ensuing in my mind. Reluctantly, I zipped up my coat, put on my boots and forced a smile as we headed out the door. But my silence began to create a space, a disconnect. On the drive up, I allowed my emotions to fester. I avoided conversation and allowed self-loathing to take the front seat. I invited doubt, hopelessness, and bitterness to sit between us. Where there were spaces, I allowed darkness to occupy.

And now, walking on the trail in silence, the more I focused inward on my feelings, the darker my thoughts became. Why did he make me do this with him? He doesn’t know me. He must not love me. Before long, the inner accusations shifted from him to me.  Amanda, you’re horrible for thinking this way. You’re not good enough to be a wife. You don’t deserve anything. You shouldn’t even exist.

 There, in a flash, the old Amanda was back. The Amanda, whose yoke carried a heavy weight, dragging her away from feeling loved or belonging. It had been years since I had last heard the voice. I was healed from those thoughts until I found myself standing numb, staring out into the haunting invitation of the forest. Then, frozen in my realization, I heard the voice urging me just to walk off and hide. To wander into the cold dark forest and never be found.

I thought my house was clean, that all corners of my mind were neat and tidy. But it was precisely when I allowed the complacency of a newly vacant space that I invited in the wrong visitors. “When [a demon] returns, it finds the person like a house that has been swept clean and made tidy, but empty. Then it goes and enlists seven demons more evil than itself, and they all enter and possess the person, leaving that one in a much worse state than before.” (Luke 11:25-26 TPT) My mind was not immune. Though I had been healed from the wounds of my past, there was an empty, vulnerable space unoccupied and a back entrance left ajar.

 I was being tempted with a deep-rooted lie of unbelonging. This was a doorway that my old identity was accustomed to leaving wide open. It was the invitation to believe a lie in a moment of weakness and let it linger until it made its home. And, although I’m not lured into a dark, cold forest regularly, there are days where I still find myself weak, empty, and vulnerable.

 When we focus on our emptiness in these moments, we forget about the One who emptied Himself completely for us to be filled. Just as Jesus set the example and emptied Himself as a servant, He too was tempted by the lures of darkness in His weakest wilderness moments. Though, here, He chooses to fill that space with the truth of God’s Word. And every moment after that, we see Jesus go away to a quiet place to be filled with the Father’s strength, in constant surrender and obedience, even to the point of death on the cross. To empty ourselves—yes, we too are called to die to ourselves—to submit our past, desires, and fleshly longings. But once cleaned out, there is a space we must never leave susceptible to intruders.

By God’s grace, I suddenly noticed the spell I was under and heard Him say, “bring the hidden things of darkness to light.” I could have let the thoughts linger, locking myself in with them. But, through God’s strength, I mustered up the courage to grab my husband’s hand and break the silence by speaking, “I need help.” He could see I had no physical need, but it was just enough light into my thoughts to allow all that was going on inside to come out, how I felt bitter towards him, right up to wanting to wander off into the woods and die. As we prayed together on the secluded forest trail, our declarations became louder and louder. We shouted the promises we knew into the darkness surrounding us, thus inviting Jesus back in to reclaim the spaces.

In moments of defeat, when you feel like you’ve lost once again, when you’re feeling the empty space, it’s in this space you must choose what to fill it with. It is a conscious effort to surrender, ask for help, and welcome Him into our weakest moments. Invite Jesus to fill the empty spaces that you have left unattended. Don’t allow darkness and defeat to fill your heart. Give Him your emptiness. Give Him your weakness. Give Him your “not good enough.” He wants to reign over it all. In these spaces, only His strength can fill us back up.