Alone in the Desert

My sister once told me that when she speaks to God, she envisions herself in the middle of a vast, barren desert. Sand and sky as far as the eye can see. Maybe a burning, holy wind. But no sounds. Nowhere to run. No cover from the blinding sun. It is just her, alone in the desert with the Most High.

That was the most profound image I took out of my childhood, and I think about it almost every day. I, too, have come to see the meeting of God-and-human as occurring in a desert. When I was young, the only deserts I had seen were in picture books, so I  began to create my own desert meeting-place in my mind. It was wide and welcoming, unknown but not unkind. It bore His stamp of dominion, and I was always safe there. Since then, I have seen real deserts. They are wild, unsettling. There is an ancient lava flow not far from my cottage. Jagged rivers of hardened magma glitter and dare onlookers to try crossing. No one does. The rocks are too sharp, the terrain too fierce, the risks too great. So they stand back and take pictures.

A desert is a place in which it is good--no, essential--to have a faithful companion upon whom to depend for survival. Someone who knows that there is a shaded cleft here, a hidden spring there, and a clump of edible herbs just beyond. Someone who packed provisions, who shares. Someone who knew it would be so cold at night, and brought shelter. Someone who stays awake to keep harm at bay.

I have read many (nearly all) of the western stories by the great storyteller Louis L'Amour. Some of his tales were placed within a few miles of where I am living. He knew the harshness of the desert, how it swallows, hides, and never gives back. But he also saw its haunting beauty, and he loved it.

Perhaps the imaginary desert of my childhood,  that secret place where I met God, was a kind of metaphor for His attributes which I could not identify, yet I sensed their presence and shape. It was vast; He is infinite. It was strange and unknown; He is mystery. It was safe and welcoming; He is a haven of rest. It was also fierce and relentless; He is righteous and reigns on high. I was helpless and needy there; He is near to all who call upon Him. It was hot and blinding; He is holy and pure. There are more parallels than there is time to list.

Perhaps I am not so wise after all these years. I still meet Him there, in the desert that exists only in my soul, and it seems little has changed. I am still utterly dependent on Him. My sinful self is still loathe to enter into that bright, searing heat and feel the burn of His righteous gaze. I am still alone in the desert with the Most High.

May it ever be so.