‘Lord, I have no idea what it means to be this kind of person. I have no real idea what it means to step into the wind and the storm and the desert and the rocky places of a person’s life, I really don’t, but I can’t get away from these words, and I sense that you are asking me to be willing to be such a person. So, here I am. Shape me into this kind of person. This is who I want to be.’

I wrote those words in my journal on New Year’s Eve 1977. I was 26 years old – and had no idea what I was praying.

I had spent weeks poring over Isaiah’s words in Isaiah 32:2:

‘Each [one of them] will be like a hiding place from the wind And a shelter from the storm, Like streams of water in a dry land, Like the shade of a huge rock in a parched and weary land [to those who turn to them].’ (AMP) 

God had promised to raise up leaders for his people, and for me this verse was a graphic portrayal of ministry to those who are battered by the storms of life, living in a land of spiritual dryness, in a weary wilderness.

Over the weeks that followed, my heart was drawn to these words like iron filings to a magnet. But it was a little while before it dawned on me that to be a safe place, a steady and refreshing presence in a person’s life, would mean being there for them as they walked through the wind, the storm, the dry and weary land. It was a sobering realisation – and yet I sensed an inexorable call to this ministry, so on the eve of 1978 I recorded those innocent, heartfelt words in my journal.

God’s training ground

In 2 Samuel 5:2, God told David, ‘You shall shepherd my people Israel.’ But before David could become their shepherd, he had to learn to trust the Lord as his shepherd, who walked with him through the hardships of his own weary wilderness days. In Psalm 144:1, David wrote, ‘[He] trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.’ David faced lions and bears – and Goliath – before he ever led his people into battle. God trained him to be the shepherd and the leader of his people within the context and challenges of his own life. And God did no less for me.

Over the years that followed that midnight prayer, I experienced first-hand what it was to know the presence of God in my own storms and deserts and dry and rocky places. I learnt something of the devastating grief of having expectations and hopes dashed beyond all recognition – but not beyond his redemption. I learnt what it was to be deeply wounded by disappointment and betrayal, by rejection and humiliation, by loss and limitations, by the effects of my own sin and the consequences of the sin of others on my life.

But through it all, over and over again, I experienced a God who walked right into the broken and ragged-edged places of my life with strength and compassion and tenderness and wisdom – and who stood with me there. I discovered the truth of Job’s words for myself: ‘I had only heard about you before, but now I have seen you with my own eyes’ (Job 42:5 NLT). As I walked through the storms and the dryness and the harder places of my life, God became my shelter, my rock, my stream of water, my hiding place. 

And that wasn’t all.

Alongside me there

In the generous kindness of God, for over 20 years I was given a wise and loving friend to walk alongside me; someone who had walked through her own wind-seared landscapes and whose life had become redolent with the life of Jesus. Ruth’s life was the embodiment of the truth of Jesus’ words in John 15:5:

‘I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant.’ (MSG)

She had spent years nurturing an intimate relationship with Jesus, drawing the sap of her life from him – and it showed. Her life was suffused with the beauty, the peace and the joy of his life. Ruth was soaked in the love of God and in his delight in her – and she in turn was delighted with him!

Ruth rarely gave advice, except when it concerned clothes (and even then she just hinted!). Rather, her way was to listen, and then to listen some more until she understood. She shared her own experience of sin and failure and disappointment. She allowed me into the grief and the loneliness of being widowed, twice. Her sharing created a safe space for me to be vulnerable about my own life.

She never failed to point me to Jesus – as my saviour, my friend, my rock, my safe place, my beloved; the source of my life, my fruitfulness, my ministry.

Turning to the source together

We spent hours together in the word of God and, over and over again, Ruth placed my hand into the hand of Jesus, so that when she died, I was still holding his hand. I was still drawing strength and comfort from our shared love of this beloved woman.

Ruth’s ministry as an alongsider in my life was – and still is – incalculable. God used her as a vibrant model of how to come alongside others with respect, kindness and compassion, and point them to Jesus for all that was needed in the harder places of their lives. Ruth taught me that ultimately everything comes out of my relationship with Jesus, and that nurturing this relationship is my highest calling, my greatest priority, my deepest joy.

Just recently I came across a new translation of John 15:5, which I believe Ruth would have greatly appreciated:

‘As you live in union with me as your source, fruitfulness will stream from within you.’ (TPT)

‘In union with me.’ This is where it all begins – and ends. Always. 

After many years as a missionary with the Navigators in East Asia, Mags returned to the UK and enjoyed several years on the faculty at Redcliffe College, Gloucester, specialising in Spiritual Formation and Soul Care. She is the author of God Among the Ruins (BRF, 2018) and A Better Song to Sing (BRF, 2020), and the co-author of Knowing You, Jesus (BRF, 2023). Her current ministry involves writing, leading retreats, and coming alongside as a soul friend.