There is a wilderness for many in their walk in faith , and it is rarely forty calm, quiet mornings with a latte or for me a diet mountain dew. It is forty days and forty nights of hunger, forty scans, forty sleepless weeks, forty plus years of carrying a body that does not cooperate. We act like the wilderness is the exception, but if you belong to Jesus, this is kind of the normal. This is where the Spirit leads you, and where the enemy leans close and runs the same three plays he ran on Christ.
First temptation comes the stones and the bread.
“Turn this into relief. Right now. If you are really His, He will not let you sit in this much pain.” For me, it sounds like, “Fix this body, remove these autoimmune diseases. Fix this fatigue. Take whatever edge‑numbing thing is in front of you and call it self‑care.” It is the offer to live on bread alone – on comfort, on meds, on distraction – instead of on the word from the mouth of God. But Jesus answers, “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God’” (Matthew 4:4; Deuteronomy 8:3). My forty days feel like lying there with a body screaming for shortcuts and having to say, “My life is not in how fast this calms down. My life is hidden in what He has already spoken.” That is wilderness lesson one.
Then comes the temple.
“Prove it. Make God perform for you. Make Him do something impressive so everyone finally shuts up.” In my world, that is the fantasy of one big healing that erases every accusation: one clean report, one dramatic turnaround, one promotion or platform that makes it obvious I am not lazy, not faking, not faithless. It is the itch to say, “Okay God, throw me off this cliff and catch me in front of the whole office, the whole family, the whole internet.” Forty days can feel like forty opportunities to dare God to put on a show. But when the enemy quotes Scripture at Jesus, twisting Psalm 91, Jesus answers, “Again it is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test’” (Matthew 4:7; Deuteronomy 6:16). Joy in the wilderness is learning to worship without demanding a stunt, to say, “You are God even if You never give me the scene I scripted.”
Finally, the mountain.
When you are tired enough, the offer to skip the cross starts to sound reasonable. “All this can be yours. The ease, the influence, the image of having it all together. Just bow a little. Bend truth here, control harder there, worship the outcome instead of the One who writes it.” My forty days are full of those little bargains: “If I over‑manage everyone, maybe I can finally rest. If I soften Your word so it does not offend, maybe I can have a bigger audience. If I live for the approval in front of me, maybe I will not have to feel so small and unseen.” The wilderness pulls back the curtain and shows me which kingdom I really want. And when Satan offers Jesus “all the kingdoms of the world and their glory” if He will just bow, Jesus answers, “Be gone, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve’” (Matthew 4:10; Deuteronomy 6:13). The only way out for me is the same way He walked, by picking up my cross and following him: “Get out Satan! I know Who I worship. I will bow to God alone, even if that means I stay on this hard road longer. I know the one who holds my today, my tomorrow, and my forever.”
Because underneath every offer in the wilderness is the same ugly goal: Satan wants worship. He is not content for me to just make a bad choice; he wants my gaze, my agreement, my bend at the knee. He wanted to be bigger than God in the beginning, and he still wants that throne in my little life right now. If he can get me to bow to comfort, to spectacle, or to control, he has dragged my worship away from the only One who actually deserves it.
So I have to stop and ask: where am I in this wilderness?
Am I in the “stones to bread” days, where all I want is for the pain to stop and I am tempted to grab any fake relief in front of me?
Am I standing on the edge of the temple, daring God to put on a show so I can finally feel vindicated?
…Or am I up on the mountain, eyeing all the kingdoms and wondering if it would really be so bad to take a shortcut, to bow just a little, so I can feel in control again?
Maybe you are at the place where your faith feels thin and cracked, and you do not even know if you believe He is good anymore. Maybe you are so tired you are ready to hand the steering wheel to anybody who promises quick peace. Can I just say this: lift your eyes. The same Jesus who walked through forty days and forty nights in the wilderness without sin is the same Jesus who walked every single day of His earthly life without sin. He was perfectly righteous in a real human body, on real dusty roads, with real temptation pressing in on every side. He is the only One who has actually defeated the tempter.
So name it. Name your wilderness. Name your current temptation. Where is the enemy whispering, “Turn these stones to bread,” “Jump and make God catch you,” or “Bow here and take control back”? Then answer it out loud with what is written – the same way Jesus did. “It is written: I do not live on bread alone. It is written: I will not put the Lord my God to the test. It is written: I will worship the Lord my God and serve Him only.”
And hear this: this wilderness is not wasted. It is not proof that God forgot you; it is one of the places He is growing your faith. You may not see the purpose it serves right now, but it serves a purpose – to strip away false worship, to teach you His voice, to anchor you in what is written instead of what you feel. Your forty days may feel long, but they are not forever. The wilderness is not the whole story. The One who walked through it without sin, who stayed faithful every step of His earthly life, is with you in yours – and His kingdom is the only one that will still be standing when your forty days are over.

“Holding fast with you in the wilderness,
your sister in Christ,
Sunnye ☀️”