“I will turn the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into springs.”
Isaiah 41:18

The heat of summer had drained the vibrant colours of spring. The land was parched and dry and everyone — plants, people and animals — was struggling to keep comfortable.

Nights were too hot to sleep, and we took the noise of a fan over the calm silence of night. Even the darkness didn’t bring the relief it should, an occasional cool breeze becoming an unusual treat.

Up and down the country, wildfires started. A discarded cigarette butt, a careless barbecue, a thoughtlessly discarded glass bottle. Rivers dwindled, their depleted waters becoming dangerously warm for the life within them.

Everything seemed thirsty.

Which got me thinking. The Bible has a lot about dry places.

Again and again, we find God’s people in the wilderness. Hagar runs out of water in the desert. The Israelites wander through barren land, wondering where their next drink will come from. Elijah, exhausted and afraid, sits beneath a tree and decides he has had enough. Jesus himself spends forty days in the wilderness.

The wilderness is not a comfortable place.

And perhaps that’s why I find it interesting that the wilderness is so often where people encounter God.

I tend to look for God in abundance. In green pastures

and still waters. In prayers answered, doors opened and lives overflowing with blessings.

But what about the dry seasons?

There are times when our own lives can feel a little like the landscape does now. When everything that once seemed colourful becomes faded. When we’re tired. When prayer feels difficult. When the path ahead looks dusty and uninviting and we wonder where on earth the next bit of nourishment is going to come from.

But dry doesn’t mean deserted.

In Exodus, when the Israelites are

desperately thirsty in the wilderness, God doesn’t immediately whisk them away to somewhere green and pleasant with a nice all-inclusive meal package.

Instead, he brings water from a rock.

Water from the most unlikely place imaginable.

Perhaps faith isn’t always about asking God to take us out of the wilderness. Sometimes it’s trusting that he is there with us, and that even in places which appear completely barren, he can still bring forth life.

Look closely at our scorched summer landscape and beneath the brown grass there are still roots. Seeds lie dormant in the soil. Trees stretch their roots deeper in search of water. Life hasn’t disappeared. It is waiting.

Perhaps some of us are in a dry place at the moment. Perhaps life isn’t particularly colourful. Perhaps God feels quieter than usual. Perhaps you’re simply exhausted and longing for rain and a cool breeze.

Don’t mistake a dry season for an empty one.

The wilderness doesn’t always disappear when we ask it to. The Israelites still had to keep walking. Elijah still had to get up and carry on. Jesus still spent forty days there.

But none of them were abandoned there.

Perhaps that is the hope hidden in all these stories. Not the promise that there will be no wilderness, but the hope that, even there, God remains with us.

Sometimes God provides water from the rock.

Sometimes he provides just enough strength for the next step.

And sometimes the first sign of new life is hidden beneath the soil, long before we can see it.

Dry isn’t the same as dead.

And God is still here.

-Laura