Desert Sage

I fell asleep to the smell of desert sage and plastic blow-up air mattress.  

I don’t know if it’s actually called “desert sage,” I’ve never looked it up, but Andrew calls it that and it sounds right to me.  Every time we pull in to Big Bend country I roll down the windows and the pungent smell permeates our car and wraps me in a warm blanket.  

 

I love Big Bend.  We come here every year for my birthday.  I dream big here, talk about what I want to do in the next year, what didn’t work in the past year and how much I’ve accomplished.  I’ve pretty much been amazed at how much my expectations are exceeded each year.  When I first traveled here, Andrew and I had just started dating, he was scared to even think of marriage, I was in a job I hated and I was very unhappy.  Now we’re married, I’m working for myself and I can say I’m pretty joyful.  At least practicing at it.

Because as you know, for me, it is a practice.  My circumstances change and will continue to, but this ole brain is still a piece of work.  

 

In the weeks leading up to our trip I was becoming a not very well “functioning member of society”.  I think it was my sister who first used that phrase and it stuck in our family and we toss it around very tongue-in-cheek.  A functioning member of society goes to work when required, pays their bills in a timely manner, wears a smile at the grocery store, has her hair did with a touch of make-up on and chats with the lady at the check out counter. 

I can’t say with confidence I’ve been following through on all these points.  I might have even gone one too many days without showering.  (Deep breaths Mama.) 

I’ve been in survival mode.  I’ve been getting up.  Making it through the day.  And trying desperately hard to sleep at night.  And I haven’t even been doing that well.  

 

It’s a nine hour drive from Dallas to Big Bend.  Nine hours to just be.  Nine hours to be in total control of my little domain.  Time to watch the clouds change and let my thoughts balloon up then dissapate.  Time to just breathe. 

Sometimes I wonder what type of person I’m meant to be in society.  What worth does traveler and wanderer hold?  I let these thoughts drift in… then go. 

The coyotes are yipping in the distance.  I love their cry.  It’s playful and sad at the same time. 

 
The desert sage, the endless stars, the coyote’s song, the ocotillo, all are leading me back to life. 

I sat in my pink camping chair this morning and thanked God for knowing me so well and for giving me the space and freedom to wander.  The same God that splashed the sunrise across the sky is gently woeing my heart. 

And He’s woeing yours.  How does He reach out to you?  Where do you feel most connected to Him?  Find that.  Go there.  Wander if you have to.  Or root down.  Wake up early or stay up late.  He is rest and He is comfort.

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