Guided In The Wilderness

The night stretches wide and heavy, shadows pressing in on every side. A lone figure lifts a lantern, its glow breaking through the darkness. The light does not reveal the entire path—it only reaches far enough for the next step. Yet it is steady, unwavering, and enough to keep moving forward.
This is the way of grief. The wilderness feels endless, and the darkness tries to convince us we are utterly alone. But in the shadows, there is One who sees us. El Roi—the God who sees me—draws near in the wilderness just as He drew near to Hagar. Cast aside, despairing, and certain her story was ending, Hagar’s eyes were opened to see a well of water that had been there all along (Genesis 21:19). God’s presence became her provision. His seeing became her saving.
So it is with us. We may not be given the whole map, but God places His light before our feet, guiding us step by step. As Psalm 119:105 promises, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” It is not the full dawn of morning, but it is enough for this moment, enough to remind us that we are never unseen, never unheard, never forsaken.
This painting whispers that truth into the heart of the griever: the wilderness may feel overwhelming, but El Roi watches over you, and His light is guiding you forward—one step at a time.