Heading
Sometimes we find surprise gifts in the wilderness. The desert is dry. There are thorns abounding. Thorns on shrubs. Thorns on branches. Thorns in the earth under our feet. We hear warnings of scorpions and snakes that hide in holes and shrubs. But these aren’t the surprises I am most marveling at tonight, as the evening draws to a close.
Tonight I’m reflecting on the gifts that await us in dry, wild places, especially if God invites us to meet him there.Today our team has worked, laughed and eaten together. We’ve prepared meals, met dynamic staff, and listened to Pete and Emily’s vision and mission here. They are passionate about encountering God in barren places. They are actively extending God’s presence in the lives of many others our Father God loves. Their stories echo God’s provision found in faithfully trusting him, even when they didn’t know yet how God would make their ministry in La Paz possible at all.
For hours we’ve worked hard in the sun, pulling up roots and grass, rock and branches. We’ve entered into the rhythms of work, worship and community this place. To be clear, the ranch does this work faithfully without our help. But they’re sharing the blessing of sweat and service with us— and we’re the better for it. These rhythms remind us not just of what we’ve come to “do.” We’re being reminded of who we “are” in Christ.
Maybe serving God in the desert is not unlike our lives back home as well. There ARE so many things that could potentially harm us—things seen and unseen — that leave us vulnerable to threat. This can feel especially true when we are waiting on God for his divine guidance, in seasons of our own wilderness times.
Yet, the things that threaten harm are only part of the story we’ve been invited into. And the One who invites us can see expansively more than our eyes can ever see. I’ve been pondering this truth while hitting the dry desert floor with blunt force and gardening tools. I’ve been wrestling with this truth during our spiritual direction hour, as hummingbirds buzzed nearby.
I’ve been asking God to tune our hearts, ears, and eyes to the things God is doing in our midst. The cry of my heart is that above all else we’d be most surprised in the wilderness by a God who is already here. Calling us to draw closer and discover why we’ve come. I’m expectant. I don’t want to miss what he is doing. But the desert sky is black with promise. And the stars are bright and plenty. So maybe there’s no chance we’ll miss God’s presence. After all, our God so wants to be found. He wants his children known and loved by him.
As I write, fire embers, like molten lava, crackle and crumble in smokey orange and red. Team members songs, blessings and stories of both joy and loss, still echo in my minds’ ears, as the fire pit begins to fade. The crickets chirp on beat, as team members begin to sleep. As dogs bark, growl and howl at the night sky, I’m sensing God’s presence in this place, reminding me we’re never truly alone.
