There Is Life in the Desert

The truck eased off the highway and came to a stop in a cloud of dust. It was day five of our cross-country road trip, towing our new home behind us, and our tank was nearing empty—both literally and figuratively. Nevada stretched before us, reaching as far as our eyes could see. A narrow ribbon of road crossed an ocean of sand and scrubby sagebrush, eventually fading into the edge of a shimmering horizon. You could practically smell the heat on the dry breeze. It felt like trying to breathe with a hairdryer blowing in your face.

I herded kids and dog into the now-familiar routine of dog walking, gas pumping, coffee grabbing, snack choosing. Then, resigning ourselves to as many more hours on the road as we could take, we set sail once more across that ocean of desert. Darkness and exhaustion would soon force an overnight break, and we’d find a place to set up camp.

As we climbed back into the truck and out of the suffocating heat, I had an overwhelming wave of sympathy for the Israelites who wandered in the desert for forty years. I wasn’t sure I could take another forty minutes. This prompted a reflection of some of the metaphorical deserts I’d occasionally found myself wandering in the past.

The memory that stood out most was the night I found myself sobbing on the kitchen floor. My husband was in the throes of nursing school and was gone most of the time for classes, clinical shifts, and studying sessions. We were both working part-time jobs, but the bills were piling up and the money had run out. I had just been diagnosed with a couple of autoimmune disorders that made my normal daily activities physically exhausting. I was also obsessively researching and educating myself on our four-year-old’s recent autism diagnosis and all the therapies required. Oh, and potty-training a two-year-old.

I felt like I was drowning in a desert of quicksand. I cried out to God to show himself to me. I desperately wanted signs and wonders. But instead of rainbows or lightning strikes, I got a still, small voice.

That voice reminded me of Scripture long ago etched into my heart. Some were verses I didn’t even remember memorizing. They were just there, in the corners of my mind, waiting for such a time as this, a time when I needed them. He reminded me that I am never alone. He is always with me. He doesn’t fade away when my feelings do. When I couldn’t feel him by my side, I had to choose to cling to his promises, even if it was with my fingernails. He is true, and his promises are eternal.

My contemplation was broken by squeals from the backseat. Mule deer had been spotted grazing between the sparse shrubs. A little further down the road, we passed a herd of wild mustangs. Then we passed signs cautioning us to watch for bighorn sheep.

“How on earth are all these animals really out here in the middle of nowhere? How do they survive?” I wondered aloud.

Our minds were blown at the seeming impossibility of it all. The truth is, their Creator designed them to be able to cover vast distances to find water. Their bodies are engineered to maintain energy despite an arid environment and minimal food sources. They thrive in the desert.

Likewise, our Creator has also designed us to thrive in the harsh landscape of human life. Our souls were created to need him above and beyond anything else. And since he is always with us, we can face life in the desert with the confidence that comes from knowing we never cross the sand alone.

That night, when we finally set up the camper and I collapsed onto my pillow, I heard the yippy conversation of several coyotes. I smiled, imagining them thriving in their natural habitat and how terrified I would be to hear their barks and howls if I were on the other side of the thin walls. I wondered again about the Israelites and imagined their fear and uncertainty, walking through the desert as the Bible tells us in Exodus.

The most noteworthy part of the whole story is how God was always with them, providing for their needs. He was a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night to guide them (Exodus 13). He rained down bread from heaven and sent quail to fill their bellies (Exodus 16). He provided water from a rock to quench their thirst (Exodus 17).

Likewise, God will always be with us as we inevitably traverse our own deserts. And when we’re in the middle of what seems like a desolate and barren season, I pray we will be able to see beyond the dust and scrub brush to the life God brings and the way he provides for our every need in every environment. He is there in the desert. Even if we can’t see him or feel him, we can know he is with us. His promises are true.

Ashley Doyle Pooser is a part-time writer and full-time wanderer. She is married to a travel nurse and homeschools her three kids on the road. She’s basically flying by the seat of her pants thirteen weeks at a time. You never know where you might cross paths with her, but you can bet she’ll be singing car karaoke and documenting all her shenanigans on Instagram at @thisonetinylife.

Photograph © Sasha * Stories, used with permission