Both my parents were born and raised in the state of South Carolina. South Carolina is also where they met, matriculated through college, and married.

My mother was born and raised in York, which is in the northern region of the state, near the North Carolina border. My father was born and raised in Orangeburg, which is in the southern region of the state, not far from what they call the “low-country.” The “low-country” of South Carolina is called such because the further south you travel, the closer you get to the ocean—so the ground is either at or below sea level. Orangeburg is only one hour from Charleston harbor, which empties out into the Atlantic Ocean.

Charleston is an extremely important city in American history. It is estimated that forty percent of the enslaved Africans who were transported to America during the transatlantic slave trade passed through Charleston. Although our family spent a month in South Carolina every summer until I was 15, I didn’t know, care or appreciate the history of those places at the time. But as I have matured, the more I have come to appreciate the soil and the soul of the people from which I sprung.

I recently visited Charleston, and spent a full day touring several of the slave plantations. On one of the plantation tours, a presentation was made about “Gullah” culture. Gullah culture refers to the language, music food, and customs that resulted when the hodgepodge of enslaved Africans from different nations in West Africa were forced to survive amidst the hot, humid, and horrific conditions of slavery in South Carolina. As I listened to one of the presentations made on that tour, it reminded me of the many stories that I heard my father recount about his childhood experiences with our kin in the low country.

What I appreciated most about that visit was the reminder that the strength of Gullah culture was based, in part, on the isolation of the people who created it. Those enslaved Africans were physically, socially, and economically isolated from the society of their day. While that isolation was enforced, demonic, and unjust, it also had the unintended consequence of forging an identity and a culture so strong that presentations are being made about it two centuries later. In no way do I endorse enforced isolation. But as I reflected on the strength, uniqueness and impact of Gullah culture, it occurred to me that occasional self-imposed seasons of isolation may be beneficial.

If you study the lives of several of the great men of scripture, you will discover that each of them spent some time in the wilderness. Moses, David, Elijah, Paul, and John the Baptist all had their seasons in the wilderness. Although the wilderness that each of these men traveled through refers to an actual place, I believe that the wilderness can also metaphorically refer to any season of our lives when we are isolated from the larger, significant sources of power, influence and success . I also believe that spending time in the wilderness is essential for maturity, a pre-requisite for development, and a condition for greatness. Isolation provides at least three benefits:

1. Preparation

2. Revelation

3. Elevation

Moses received the ten commandments and the instruction for building the tabernacle in the wilderness.

David composed some of his greatest psalms during his flight from Saul in the wilderness.

Elijah heard the still, small voice of the spirit in the wilderness.

Paul received unique insight into the true identity and mission of the Lord Jesus Christ in the wilderness.

And Luke 1:80 says this about John the Baptist:

And the child grew and became strong in spirit, and he was in the wilderness until the day of his public appearance to Israel.

There is no doubt in my mind that the strength of John’s spirit was intimately connected to the time he spent in isolation—in the wilderness.

Because of the power of wilderness experiences, perhaps we should fear them less and desire them more.