I have not sought this desert,
nor have I chosen to travel alone
in scorching heat by day, in sudden freeze at night.
How long must I walk this barren place?
Old desires shimmer in the distance, only to disappear.
Nothing is what it seems.
Voices echo, silenced by shifting sand,
and I carry the silence within me.
Is this your voice now in the wind, in the shadows of
evening,
in pale streaks of morning?
Is this your hand that moves over
this place, carving shelter from rock?
Here
find water, hidden away,
flowers
blooming bright red:
tiny flames
in the wilderness.
See, I
am to be found even here, in heat shimmer,
cacti,
seas of sand. I am the cloud by day, cooling
you, weary traveler.
At night,
I gather the darkness and breathe upon it. There!
I am the fire by night!
Someday
I will flood this place with water.
Trees will grow by the river.
Flowers
will unfurl from hidden seeds. You will
see.
But now, you must walk in this place.
--Text this week: Luke 4. Jesus wandering in the desert. I love the beauty of the desert but I have NEVER liked the idea of wandering there, like our church mothers and fathers, and I hate the idea of hiking by myself in a desert. It sounds terrifying, especially because I feel like depression and sadness create such deserts for us--and those are hard places to walk patiently. I love the image of God appearing in a cloud by day and a fire by night--this comfort in such a stark place by day, this hope and sense of direction by night.
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