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The Beautiful Desert

By Connie Hubble


I carry my baby girl on my back,

through dormant vineyards of Napa Valley;

the greenness of the hills becomes my favorite color.

Yellow mustard thriving

between the rows of sleeping vines,

sings of spring, birth, renewal, a fresh start.

I watch nimbus clouds part,

Allowing the sunshine to kiss the earth,

warm my face, and gently heat life awake.

The miracle I cling to stirs.

She is green. New to this earth.

How I long to protect her from the desert.

Then I remember the desert

And the answers to my prayers.

The desert has its own kind of beauty.

There I learned to love the cactus bloom

fighting against all odds for life,

displaying a strength to emulate.

I held on too long to failed dreams;

the sting of the Mojave made me ill.

Life was parched out of me.

Only by living in the arid terrain,

brown, barren, and burdensome,

Did I learn to rely on my Savior’s strength.

Once delivered from the desert

I recognized happiness by what it was not.

I understood that without the trial,

victory would be meaningless.

The desert gave birth to my senses,

and led me down the path to my daughter.

No, I realize, I would never deprive

My sweet child of the desert.

I know she will need the brown and the barren,

the dry and the parched,