The Desert Flower

“Oh God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you; my flesh thirsts for you; as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” Psalm 63:1 (NIV)

The harsh desert winds blow
Bringing dryness and death
The budding flower begins to crack
As its moisture rises in a fine mist

There is no shelter from the whipping winds
The flower’s soft petals are ripped off
The opulent pink torn into brown shreds
Its leaves are snatched out of its weak grasp

The dry winds ease and the swirling sands drop
And the flower sees what it has become
It is nothing but a skeleton, a twisted scarecrow
It has dried up from the root
It slowly begins to curl up and die

One day news comes through the whispering sands
A cloud the size of a man’s hand has been seen
The flower scoffs
Could such a pathetic rainfall revive it to its previous glory?

The shadow falls
The sky goes black
And the rain drops begin to fall

Streams of water begin to trickle down the dunes
The fresh water pools around the plant
And seeps down deep into its roots
The flower drinks it furiously
And feels life restore to it once again

“Praise be to the Lord for he has heard my cry for mercy.” Psalm 28:6 (NIV)

Image of Desert Rose #3 by Philip Bouchard, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

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