desert

Well? What is it? Desert, or Babylon?

The preacher sat across from me, nursing the same cup of coffee he had purchased over an hour before. I suppose one might forget the cup in front of him if the conversation was interesting enough.

Still, he wanted an answer to his question. I didn’t have one. Not then.

I think I do now. Maybe I should let him know. Oh, let him wait. Our next coffee morning is sure to find us sparring a bit—verbally, I mean—and we’ll discuss it again.

I had mentioned that it was a little hard to pick up my old writing habits in a new place, somewhat unfamiliar to me, and then I referenced the Psalm which wonders how it would be possible to sing the Lord’s song in a strange place. The people of Judah had been taken into captivity in Babylon and, being asked to sing their familiar praise songs there by the river in that foreign place, declined, breaking down and weeping instead. (Psalm 137:1-4)

I have been feeling sorry for myself for a few months. I think perhaps my nobody-loves-me-everybody-hates-me-I’m-going-to-go-to-the-garden-and-eat-worms lament was getting tiresome, so the preacher decided to shut me up about it.

Well? What if you’re really in the wilderness on your way to the Promised Land instead of in captivity in Babylon?

We bantered about it for a few minutes more and I left—headed back to Babylon—or the desert—whichever.

And yet, like a Labrador puppy with a new toy (or, more likely, an old stick), my mind kept worrying at the question.

Babylon?

Desert?

Oh, what was the difference? Neither was desirable. I didn’t want to be in either place.

No. Wait.

Babylon was a place of punishment—a place to go and either die or repent.

The desert, on the other hand, was simply a part of the journey to a country dreamed of for centuries. A reward, if you will.

Funny. They complained in both circumstances.

Me, too.

Why is that? Why do we complain about the process when we know—absolutely know—what’s coming is glorious?

I understand the unhappy folks in Babylon. They have nothing to look forward to, only dimming memories to hold in their hearts. It would be nearly impossible to sing their joyous tunes there.

I’m not being punished.

I’ve known, for many years now, I will never arrive at my goal here in this world. Well, I say “I’ve known”, but I guess I never really believed it. At least, I don’t live like I believe it.

It’s easy to become complacent, isn’t it? To begin to be satisfied with less. Less than what we’ve envisioned. Less than what has been promised us.

Less.

Because, less is easier.

And the angel of the Lord told young Mary she would have a child and He would be the Son of the Most High—a King who would rule forever. (Luke 1:30-33)

And Mary said, I’ll take that. What you said, I’ll take that. (Luke 1:38)

The angel didn’t explain about the stable. He didn’t describe the terrifying flight to a foreign country to save the young boy’s life. Nothing at all was said about the boy wandering off to the temple.

I didn’t read anything about that horrible, horrible day when the Roman soldiers would torture and kill him right before her eyes.

Gabriel, that bright messenger, never told her that would happen. Not a whisper.

But, she had a promise. And, she accepted the promise.

Funny. I also don’t remember ever reading anything about Mary wanting out of the deal. Ever.

She simply tucked the memories and confirmation away in her heart and she kept up her part of the bargain. Through the pain and the heart-numbing sorrow, she did her part.

Somehow, I think I may have the wrong things tucked away in my heart. Somewhere along the way, I’ve forgotten the original deal.

This isn’t the place the story is going to finish.

This isn't the place the story is going to finish. Share on X

Just as the story of Mary’s Baby never ended on that horrible hill, ours won’t be done until our Creator says it is.

Every step—every one—brings us closer to the place of joy and peace He’s promised.

And, along the way, we enjoy His provision. In the midst of desolation and hardship, He feeds our spirits and sustains us.

The deal stands.

I’ll keep walking.

Milk and honey are still up ahead.

Through the desert.

I have always loved the desert. One sits down on a desert sand dune, sees nothing, hears nothing. Yet through the silence something throbs, and gleams…
(from The Little Prince ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry ~ 1900-1944)

The Israelites called the food manna. It was white like coriander seed, and it tasted like honey wafers.
(Exodus 16:31 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007, 2013, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.)

He doesn’t hate cats. He never has.

It’s just that my Dad thought cats should earn their keep. In an environment rich in prey for the furry felines, he expected them to do what God created them to do.

We didn’t feed the cats a lot.

They did their jobs.

Many hours were spent in my childhood, watching the sneaky critters hunt mice and lizards around the various buildings on the property. Stealthily and patiently, they would wait for just the right moment. Any error in calculation would result in missing the kill. Hunger was the result.

They became quite skilled at their task.

Even the most elusive of prey can be caught.

On several occasions, I would notice the cat giving up after waiting for a long period of time, only to return the next day or week. Nothing escaped them forever.

A few times, they were even lucky enough to find the nest of a cottontail rabbit. The fat little bunnies were no match for the cunning hunters. We were always unhappy to see the result of these forays.

But we were never as sad as the lady of the house was when she found the feathers of her beloved songbirds scattered in the yard, the result of some stealthy, sneaky kitty’s hunt. A slink—a crouch—a spring in the air, and the deed was done. I think she would have rather fed the cats daily than have the sweet songs of those winged creatures fall silent.

Nevertheless, I also remember the times when we set the feast out for the brood of feline hunters. Scraps from the table, perhaps the leftover from one of our fishing trips, would find their way out to the porch on saucers.

The purring kitties would devour the meal in seconds, with heads raised immediately to see if more was forthcoming. When it wasn’t, the cats would wander away to lie in the shade, still purring, those plump mounds where their hungry bellies had been now gorged with the bounty.

Funny thing. The next day they would return to the place they had been fed, in hopes that the generosity would be repeated. When it wasn’t, they slunk away disappointed. Usually, after the second day with no repetition in the feeding, they would return to their usual activities, once more catching mice and other prey.

It wasn’t a bad system. My father believed that things should work the way God designed them to. Cats are hunters.

Some may think it cruel to have let them fend for themselves. In this day and age, we pamper our pets, providing beds and central heat/air for them. Offering them gourmet meals, we wouldn’t think of making them hunt.

Dad believed them capable, and they proved themselves to be all that and more. Not one ever starved.

But beyond the discussion of our treatment of pets, I have to wonder: Do things actually work the way God created them to?

There is a deeper truth to be found here. We may have to hunt for it a little while.

It may take some skill.

Truth is so elusive at times.

Why is it that sometimes we have to struggle so hard to find it? I have questions—questions for which I need answers—but they are nowhere to be found.

Years, I have sought the answers in some cases. It is true that many have been revealed.

But many more, I still seek for.

And perhaps, that is the deeper truth we can learn from the feline creatures.

The hunt for truth, God’s truth, is a lifelong quest. Wisdom and knowledge, of who He is and what He desires of us, depend on it.

Our relationships depend on finding it.

Why then is it so hard to find sometimes? There are seasons when I feel I’m wandering in a desert, with nothing to be found. There is no truth, no direction, no comfort to be seen anywhere.

But, I remember the words of the Teacher, the one who wandered in the desert Himself, hungry and thirsty:

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. They will be filled. (Matthew 5:6)

In the desert, we can still find His truth. The water He provides still quenches thirst, even if it does have to be wrung from the cactus plant.

I remember too, that He has plans to bless us, and not plans to harm. He wants to train us for a future, and a hope. If we seek Him with everything within us, He promises—promises—to be found. (Jeremiah 29:11-13)

There will be time for rejoicing later. The day is coming!

Until then, we hunt. We seek. We examine.

It is enough.

Before you get depressed about the desert, I wonder if I can remind you of something?

The same God who designed us to hunt in the desert also leads us by the still waters and prepares a feast for us. (Psalm 23)

The same God who sends us to wait in the wilderness sometimes simply puts the saucer down on the floor and calls out, “Here Kitty, Kitty.”

Taste it! Taste it and find that the Lord is good. (Psalm 34:8)

Full is good.

Is that purring I hear?

Where I found truth, there I found my God, who is the truth itself.
(Augustine of Hippo ~ Early Christian theologian ~ 354-430)

O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is;To see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary.
(Psalm 63:1-2 ~ KJV)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

What He Said

Hunting Cats Don’t Purr