A young girl once found herself walking through the desert. Barefoot. Dusty. Distressed.
She was sure of one thing. She’d been abandoned. She was angry with those who’d brought her to this place and forgotten to care for her.
She looked around. She saw no life. No hope.
She cried to Yahweh, ‘Why have you forsaken me?’
She waited for help.
She was alone.
When night fell, she slept. She dreamt of darkness, withered flesh, protruding bones. Of skeletons wrapped in shrouds, walking the earth neither alive, nor dead.
As the morning light touched her frail form, in that space between sleep and wake, she heard a voice, ‘The desert strips you. It’s necessary. But it’s not the end. Look around. What’s here in this place? What can you find? What do you need? Where will you look?’
She opened her eyes and looked outside of herself. She could see nothing. Endless sand, certain death.
There was only one place left. One she considered irrelevant to her predicament. One she couldn’t imagine being of help.
She turned within.
She expected emptiness.
She was wrong.
She found resilience. Strength. Courage. An aptitude to learn and a willingness to try. She found a verdant garden filled with everything she could need. The very definition of abundance, alive within.
She turned back to the desert. No longer did it seem empty. For she was in it and she was full. She brought life to the place.
In that moment she knew. She would endure and survive.
Indeed, she would thrive.