CONSIDER THE DESERT

Last summer I packed up my two young sons for a road trip to Montana. On the long trek through South Dakota, we stopped at a small, isolated campground on the western prairie. Tired and cautious, my spirits lifted when we saw the tepee. The owner of the campground said it slept three and was ours for the night. As we talked late into the evening, gazing up at the stars peeking through the roof, I congratulated myself many times over for undertaking such an educational and experientially fulfilling adventure.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up to relentless flashing lights. Where was I? What was happening? Disoriented with fatigue, I stumbled outside. Looking to the west, my heart stopped. On the horizon was the most awesome display of electricity I have ever seen. Strike after strike of lightning pounded the buttes and valleys. Every burst of thunder took my breath away.

Our cozy tepee seemed ridiculously fragile. The boys woke up and began to cry. Feigning calm, I shushed them back inside, promising everything would be fine.

“Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the River Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the desert, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing during those days, and at the end of them he was hungry.”

Sometimes I feel that if the Spirit of God is to lead me, it will always be “beside quiet waters” and that my job in life is to find these benevolent places so that I can sit still and listen. But Ash Wednesday reminds me it’s not about water – holy or otherwise. From dust you came and to dust you shall return. Lent is our time to consider the desert.

As I stood fixated on the storm over the Badlands, my mind concocted every bad thing that could happen. In time, it began to dawn on me that because the plains are so vast, every storm seems threatening. Even those far away.

It took birdsong, sunrise and a full-out rainbow just overhead for me to realize that everything really was going to be fine.

The boys came out blinking and sleepy. We stood quietly together taking in the panorama of magenta and gold-rimmed clouds. The perfect arc of an entire rainbow, iridescent against the receding black clouds, loomed high above our heads. Far off in the distance, lightning was a visual grace note to all that beauty. Birds flitted about on the wind-swept grasses. Absorbing the sight, sounds and smells of that incredible morning, I thanked God many times over for his generosity in bringing us to this place.

Today, when I kneel to receive the ashes I will remember the glorious elements from which I have been created – and give thanks. Today, I acknowledge one God – to whom I belong. And without whom no truly good thing can exist. Today, I have a reason to re-enter the desert. To be reworked, renewed and redeemed. May it be so, in the name of Jesus Christ, who shepherds us perfectly.

— Marey Oakes

Courtesy of The Church of the Good Shepherd United Methodist