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,