Yes. There is water. Even in the driest places . . .
Recently, I drove through the Mojave Desert with my daughter. I was stunned by the apparent bone-dry desolation that stretched as far as the eye can see. Quite literally, a picture of thirst. Stark sand interrupted here and there with scrubby low foliage, desert willows, and the Seuss-esque Joshua tree. It's like we had been beamed to a distant planet.
Here and there, we crossed a wash. In an area that normally gets only about 2 inches of rain annually, the run-off rushes like a flash flood to low ground. Best not build your house there.
Along the horizon, or up by the road, we saw barren, towering, rocky formations looking as if a giant hand had pushed them skyward or dropped them in clay-like fistfulls back to the earth. I didn't realize we were climbing until my ears popped and we glimpsed some heart-stopping overlooks.
Regaining a perspective of this barren land, I could begin to fathom that even here, the hand of God has etched out a picture of Providence. In this arid wasteland, so near Death Valley, bits of green do exist. They persevere through the drought. Desert wildlife -- coyotes and spiders and such -- forage through life with a combination of determination and sheer grit. Above all, I was awed by the singular beauty of the place.
I thank my Lord for giving this soul, so accustomed to the green of Middle Tennessee, a glimpse into the desert life -- into the hard-knock kind of school Moses and the Hebrew children endured. Not unlike the geography where John the Baptist and Jesus prepared for ministry. The seminary of growth . . .
When life drains us parched and weak, we serve a God who sees. Who opens eyes. Who sustains. And, like Hagar, we can go on. Like the Samaritan woman, we find Living Water.