A young man sat by a glacial lake in the Appalachians, struggling to stay present.

His mind tugged back toward the world he’d left behind: friends, worries, hopes. The noise that fill the hearts of young people as they prepare to leave home. He left his Bible open in the stillness of mid-morning and asked God to show the way.

The night before, by the fire, he had shared his intention to deepen his relationship with God. That same longing stirred in him again. He turned the longing into prayer, then lay back to listen. Still struggling.

“I swear,” he later said, “there was no wind… then this huge gust blew over my spot, and the pages of my Bible turned. I looked down as the page it was turned to. It was Matthew 4. I read it, and for the first time on the solo, I was present.” His voice slowed and his posture relaxed as he shared.

Reflecting on these, and many other moments of grace with groups, I wonder if this young man knew just how precious these little miracles are. How rare they seem to become as we grow older. How life is so much a wilderness, where the gravest danger might be the temptation to believe we must journey alone to find our ways toward fulfillment, happiness, God.

How, again and again, when we take a true step toward matters of the heart and Spirit, God reaches down. Subtly, consistently, reminding us that we are not lost in the wilderness, but found.

“Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted there by the devil. For forty days and forty nights he fasted and became very hungry.”

Matthew 4:1–2 (NLT)