The wind stirred the floor of the sand dune -kissed landscape. I tightened the pale pink headscarf around my face, but the micro pellets of earth forced their way through the gauzy fabric anyway, until the sand was a part of my epidermis. Our caravan bounded on – atop the funny, farty beasts – and I was behind a real pooper.
Riding a camel outside of Zagora, Morocco, I had to give way to trust and ignore the unbalanced feeling every step gave. The rough wool blanket separated the curly pelt beneath my denim pants. The sun beat down and the double-kneed creature inched forward.
The Sahara desert is as bold, lonely and beautiful as you can imagine. Deserts are like that. They can be frighteningly revealing or freeingly simplifying.
You enter a desert bloated with whatever you’ve been holding inside, and over a period of time in the heat and pressure, what you have been holding in squeals out like a slowing deflating balloon.
I don’t run to the deserts in life, but I always find God in them. It’s just me sitting on a sand hill, with nothing but more sand on the horizon and God’s breath swilling around me, moving me, reminding me I am not alone – and I will never be alone because of his promise.
“Who is this sweeping in from the desert, leaning on her lover?”
~ Song of Songs 8:5a NLT