The desert is a crazy place to live.
People aren't supposed to make it here.
It's hot and dry and not a climate naturally inclined to survival.
Sometimes, when I look out over the valley and see all the prickly, sharp, and rocky terrain, I wonder what the first people that came through here thought. What about it made them think they could survive here? How did they begin to break down the hard exterior to create a place to settle?
Did they see beyond the desert? Did they have a vision of what it would look like after a lot of hard work?
I bet a lot of people told them they were crazy.
That there were easier places to be. Less work, less time.
I bet they had to tune out a lot of naysayers. Nod their heads as people recited to them how impossible what they were suggesting was.
I bet they watched other people settle for less than what they could have. I bet there were times they wanted to join them.
The desert feels a lot like my life this past year.
I get why those people kept pushing on, why they stayed even though it didn't make a lot of sense.
I think they knew what I know.
That out of dry, dusty places, comes stark beauty. The contrast of the green against the brown against the blue, well, it'll take your breath away. That you don't need lush and perfect conditions to spring forth new life.
Yea, it can be hard. Sure, you have to want it bad enough.
But it's there.
This past year has been hard in a way I never expected.
And as we approach the anniversary of Gabe's open heart surgery and, after three months, I just now start greiveing the loss of my brother. As Andrew and I look at each other and, unbelievably, feel more in love than I thought possible. As I finally settle in to our new home and feel like I can breathe and rest and say I'm home. As the world keeps spinning and the birds keep singing and life keeps going.
I know that here, in the desert, magic is still real.
beauty in dry places