Whole
“Some wandered in desert wastelands, finding no way to a city where they could settle. They were hungry and thirsty, and their lives ebbed away.” -Psalm 107:4-5
…
The Expanse
The Expanse was vast.
Desert sand rippled as far as the eye could gaze.
Dust filled the mouth, nostrils, skin.
Alone, longing for the tree’s shade.
Desperate for water.
In the bitter cold of the night, I close my eyes.
Sand brushes across my fingers.
I remember the cities.
I remember the food shared among friends.
The gatherings and parties.
The bitter sweetness of wine on my tongue.
The laughter ensuing from a memory.
The songs sung in our togetherness.
I realize my thanklessness.
To cherish a moment only seems to come in the future suffering.
I didn’t foresee these cold desert nights or the blistering, lonely days.
I didn’t divine the coming isolation.
I never envisioned being swallowed up by The Expanse.
Fear in a desert comes from the overwhelming solitary confinement-hopelessness.
In the cities, when we gathered, the serving nature of community brought life. It brought bread and water and dancing. It brought hope. It brought purpose.
Purpose in the desert is to come through to the land of milk and honey. Purpose in the desert is survival, refinement, a heart starving with only gratitude to feed it, a body thirsty with only small droplets of faith as drink.
When the beasts of the night creep onto the dunes, when viscous storms arise and threaten to bury all in their path, when all control is gone, I fall to my knees. I cry out to the starry hosts, to the Great Artist and beg for rescue.
In a cloud, in a storm, in great waters rising from nowhere, on the back of the Leviathan or in the chaos of the Behemoth, in the thunder and lightening, in creation, He appears.
His hands come foreword and lift me up. My head is bowed low, I dare not look at his face. All is chaos, and then, he breathes.
As though swallowed in a vacuum, all is still. Not a grain of sand moves. Terrifying quietness. It stretches the length of time.
And then, He speaks, only two words.
“Stand up”
His right hand touches my eyes.
Suddenly, my knees feel the roughness of innumerable particles of sand. It scrubs against my fingertips, roots itself into my nails.
And slowly, I rise. But when I look around, it is not only dunes and sand and air. It is not the storm or stillness.
I look around to see people. Human kind fill the desert as lost and alone as me. They wander blindly, trudging as though no one is around to see their pain.
And though no voice reverberates through the wilderness, I hear his magic in my soul.
“You’re not alone.”
Here in this place, I longed for saving. But maybe I’m not the only one who needs rescue. Maybe this isn’t my story.
I see the wandering bodies, the vessels of His same magic and I know we were meant for one another. I see us now, like broken pottery needing to be pieced back together by the Artist. It’s not about the broken, but becoming Whole.
