If you’ve been reading TTP for any length of time, you may already have seen a good deal of work I’ve shared about the subject of solitude. It is, after all, one of my favorite things to help others understand. I came across a lecture recently where Jordan Peterson talks about solitude in terms of how being alone builds things in us that constant connection and noise never can, and his perspective is a must share.
In this lecture, Dr. Peterson speaks of the fear many of us carry around solitude, and the way it forces us to face ourselves without the comfort of an audience or distraction. I’ve never written much on that perspective, because I’ve never experienced it. He, as I have in past posts, describes how real growth, deeper thinking, a clearer conscience, and the kind of resilience that matters happen in those quiet spaces when no one is watching. His words on those points stayed with me, too, not because they were entirely new, but because they echo something I have been learning through Scripture and through my own walking with God over many years.
In my life, the call to step away from the noise has often felt like an invitation into the wilderness. I have been sensing it again in my everyday life recently, and it has, as always, left me feeling called to share what I discover through a series of posts and reflections here. For me, the wilderness, the desert, the seasons when God draws us into solitude with Him, have never been something He brings as punishment or abandonment. Instead they have been the places where He does some of His deepest and most lasting work. I feel a specific purpose in sharing that work in writing for others to explore and find support in. For all of us, it is to share that work in our actions and in the way we live our lives, even if we remain silent witnesses.
The Bible shows us again and again that the desert is one of the settings where He meets His people most intimately. It is where the false things we have relied on begin to fall away and where something truer and more solid is slowly formed.
Scripture Shows Us the Wilderness as a Place of Allurement and Tender Encounter
One of the passages that has meant a great deal to me for some time now comes from the prophet Hosea. In the second chapter, God speaks to His unfaithful people, and instead of driving them or condemning them forever, He says this:
Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her. (Hosea 2:14)
The language here is so gentle. He does not say He will force or punish, but that He will allure, draw, and speak with tenderness. The wilderness becomes the setting for restoration. It is the place where the distractions and falsities that pull us away are stripped back so we can hear His voice more clearly. For those of us who have spent years deconstructing layers of performance and institutional expectations in our faith, this verse feels especially true. The desert is where the scaffolding we built around relationship with God begins to come down, and we meet Him in a more honest way.
Jesus Himself showed us this pattern. The Gospels tell us that “very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed” (Mark 1:35). And another passage notes that “Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed” (Luke 5:16). Even the Son of God, in the middle of crowds and demands and ministry, made space to be alone with the Father. Solitude was not an occasional escape for Him. It was part of the rhythm of His life.
These examples remind us that the wilderness is not a detour. It is often the very place where identity is clarified, where temptations are faced, and where preparation for what comes next happens.
What Going to the Desert with God Actually Feels Like
When I think about my own seasons in the wilderness, they have rarely been dramatic or easy to describe in neat terms. They have looked like times when life stripped away the usual comforts and noise. Health challenges, grief over loved ones and parts of the church community that seemed to be walking away from the things of God, the long process of questioning old ways of doing faith, and the choice to protect quiet spaces at home rather than fill them with activity. In those times, the initial feeling has often been discomfort, sometimes even a kind of fear or disorientation. The silence brings up the things we usually keep busy enough to avoid.
There is the confrontation with parts of ourselves that have been hidden or ignored. Questions rise that do not have quick answers. Grief feels sharper without distraction. Yet if we remain there with God, something begins to shift. Provision comes in ways we did not expect. A sense of His nearness grows in the quiet. There are moments that feel like the still small voice Elijah heard after the wind and fire and earthquake, not in the dramatic displays but in the gentleness that follows. There is tenderness in the way God meets us, speaking to the deep places rather than offering simple formulas.
For me, these desert seasons have also been places where writing and reflection have taken clearer shape. Ideas for posts or thoughts that feel more authentic seem to come when the external voices quiet down. It is not always comfortable, but it has been where trust has grown deeper, where I have learned to praise even in difficulty, and where the relationship with God has become less about performance and more about surrender and grace.
The experience teaches that solitude with God is not emptiness. It is the place where He integrates what is broken or fragmented in us, where conscience is sharpened, and where we learn to stand more steadily when we return to the world around us.
The Strength That Is Built There
What forms in the desert is the kind of strength that cannot be manufactured in crowds or through constant activity. It is the integrated self that Peterson points toward, the person we become when no one else is watching. It is a deeper authenticity that comes from facing our shadows in the presence of the One who already knows them fully. It is the capacity to carry responsibility not out of fear or external pressure, but from a place of inner conviction and relationship.
Scripture shows us that those who went through the wilderness often emerged with clearer purpose. Jesus came out of His forty days ready for ministry. Elijah received new direction after his time in the cave. Moses encountered the burning bush and his calling in the ordinary quiet of the desert. These were not wasted seasons. They were formative.
In my own life, I have seen how time in these quieter places has helped me move from the fear-driven patterns of earlier faith into something more rooted in grace and trust. It has given me language for the grief I carry over the falling away I see around me, and it has deepened my desire to point others toward the relational heart of following Christ rather than the rules and rituals that so often replace it.
Closing Thoughts and An Invitation to the Quiet Places
If you find yourself in a season that feels like wilderness, or if the thought of being alone brings fear rather than peace, I want to encourage you to consider that God may be alluring you there for reasons far kinder than we first imagine. It may be the place where He speaks most tenderly, where He rebuilds what has been worn down, and where He prepares you for whatever lies ahead.
We do not have to rush into it or force it. Sometimes it begins with small withdrawals, like Jesus rising early or stepping away from the crowds. It can look like protecting time for prayer and reflection without the pressure to produce or perform. It can mean choosing quiet even when the world around us values noise and connection above all else.
The desert is not the end of the story. It is often the beginning of deeper things. In that silence, we learn again that our strength is not in ourselves alone but in the God who meets us there and leads us through.
What has your own experience with these seasons of solitude or wilderness been like? I would love to hear in the comments if you feel led to share. May we all find the tenderness of His voice in the quiet places we are given.