I remember the first time my pastor invited me out to Duke Gardens. I was a pastoral intern at a church in Wake Forest, NC, and a third-year seminary student. One Thursday morning, during our intern meeting—eight of us gathered around a table—Pastor Larry walked in, sat down, looked around and said, “7:00 AM., next Saturday. Meet me at the Gardens. I’ll give you a little instruction and a handout. Bring only your Bible and a journal. We’re going to spend half a day in solitude and prayer.”
My mind raced with questions:
Half a day?! In prayer? How is that even possible?
Man, I’ve got a wife and kids—how am I supposed to explain this?
Is this guy serious?
That Saturday morning, we arrived at Duke Gardens—forty acres of carefully tended beauty, filled with plantings from around the world. It was mid-spring, and everything was in bloom. The sun was beginning to rise, and not a cloud dotted the sky. It was stunning. Peaceful. A sanctuary. Pastor Larry handed us each a guide, smiled knowingly—the kind of smile that says, you’re about to discover something you didn’t even know you needed—and said, “Don’t overthink today. You’re here to spend time with God. Let Him speak to you about the condition of your soul. This guide will help, but the point is simple: enjoy God’s company. Just you and Him—for five hours. We’ll debrief afterward, and you’ll be home by 1:00 p.m.”
And off we went.
That day in the garden became one of the best days of my life—not just for what happened in those five hours, but because that experience planted something in me. It’s grown into a rhythm, a way of returning again and again to what truly restores.
In Mark chapter 1, Scripture tells us that Jesus, early in the morning, slipped away to commune with the Father. Think about that: the perfect Son of God—sinless, wise, full of grace and truth—regularly sought time alone with the Father. That’s convicting. If Jesus needed it, how much more do I?
What I learned that day in the garden was a little of why He did it. Solitude creates space. It invites us to slow down, to reflect honestly and to listen deeply with God about our actual lives. It’s unhurried. Undistracted. Unhindered. And undeniably effective. In solitude, God searches the heart, reveals what’s hidden, brings healing and gently guides. It’s in this sacred stillness that His life breaks through in ways we can feel.
Over the past 14 years, I’ve had the privilege of leading other men into similar spaces—into the “wilderness” of solitude. I’ve watched the Lord meet them there, breaking them down only to build them up again. During our debriefs, there’s always a kind of holy hush—the unmistakable evidence of the Holy Spirit ministering uniquely to each man, speaking directly to the soul.
Henri Nouwen once said, “We enter into solitude first of all to meet our Lord and to be with Him and Him alone. Only in the context of grace can we face our sin; only in the place of healing do we dare to show our wounds; only with a single-minded attention to Christ can we give up our clinging fears and face our own true nature. Solitude is a place where Christ remodels us in his own image and frees us from the victimizing compulsions of the world.”
Jesus didn’t enter solitude because He needed forgiveness—He entered it to live in daily dependence on the Father’s love. To delight in His company. To focus His heart on the Father’s will. To remember the story He came to fulfill.
When we step into solitude, we follow Him into the wilderness, only to find that God turns wildernesses into gardens. We find our place in the story. We receive forgiveness anew for our actual sins. We let God “remodel us” into the likeness of Christ. We delight in His presence. And then—we rise, strengthened, ready to live out the will of the Father.
So this summer, consider carving out time to enter into the wilderness–that sacred space where God is waiting. Just you, Him, a Bible and a journal. You might just experience the transforming work of Christ.
It might just be one of the best days of your life, that then becomes a regular part of your life.