I've decided the desert suits me. I'm writing from Tucson, Arizona where I'm vacationing with my family.

Sure . . . who wouldn't want a week or two to stretch out in some canvas chair, good book in hand, nothing but rolling surf before you and warm lazy days to spend nestled in the Florida sun? Or to walk trails in the cool forests of a Colorado mountainside taking pics and pleasure in the Spring offerings of columbine and sage?

But there's something about the desert that appeals to me. It's beautifully barren. Dry but painted in cactus flower, flat and unpromising, but rugged and foreboding in its expanse. I like the desert.  That is, as a tourist . . .

I've never wandered in it for days . . . trusting my life and limb to an unseen Provider. Wherever we go as a family, we make certain to bring ample supplies of water and snacks because the desert offers neither to the weary and wandering suburban tribe.

I wonder if my view and appreciation for this hot barren terrain would alter if I were forced to journey through it with only a blind and mysterious trust in God's goodness to sustain me. I think it might.

Desert becomes metaphor for a place of testing in the Biblical narratives . . . Moses lived as a fugitive in the desert of Midian for forty years before discovering God's wondrous vision for the rest of his life. Israel wandered in the desert of Sinai for forty years in a long disobedient drift. Joseph rescued his aging father and rebel rousing brothers from the fierce clutches of the desert's revenge when he offered them refuge in Pharaoh's palace.  Jesus sparred with Satan in the Judean desert and the Apostle Paul found new bearings for a  lifetime of Gospel advance in the arid deserts of the Arabian wilderness.  There's something fiersome and cleansing about the desert experience that purges you from silly distractions and attitudes of self sufficiency.

Maybe that's why God has chosen in His goodness to bring you and me to desert places in our lives. And to at times allow us to remain in a place that is otherwise barren and void of easy comforts and surface satisfactions . . . to allow us an opportunity to really know Him and begin to trust His ways.

The psalmist asked the penetrating question . . . the question of the ages really, "Can God spread a table in the desert?" (Psalm 78:19).  The answer of course is a resounding "yes!" But it will be a table and a timing of His making and His proportions.

For you it may be a quiet word of encouragement from a friend at long last that somehow convinces you God has heard your weary voice in prayer. Or an ample and steady supply of temporary work while He prepares you for something of more satisfying significance. Or for you it may become a grace filled healing after years of debilitating struggle with depression or anxiety. But He will spread a table for you in your desert place if you believe Him to be that good.

If it were all rolling surf and cool mountain breezes we'd never learn to need Him or be drawn to rocks and crevices for a single drink of water and praise for His faithfulness. The desert makes us look beyond ourselves to find a stream of grace in a most unlikely place and learn a calm and abiding obedience.

Can God spread a table in the desert? Yes, He can. He always has. But He patiently waits for us to come to the table fully expecting Him to provide.