I love to drive through the desert southwest. I am always impressed with the vastness of the land, the dramatic rock formations sculpted by wind, sand, water and time, and the majestic clouds which seem to spread their glory like a giant canopy, over the whole of the red-tinged creation.
Pronghorn antelope graze on the sage-covered hills. Yellow road signs warn motorists to beware of "eagles on the highway." Dust storms arise suddenly, their murk making it impossible to continue driving.
Some years ago we descended from a high plateau into what we thought was a dense area of fog, only to discover that we'd driven into a terrible blizzard. After three hours of white-knuckle driving, we reached the blessed little town of Salina and holed up for the night.
Years later, Kiri and I drove through the same rocky landscape, but this time it had been transformed by rain and fog into a magical, mystical fairy land of shape-shifting cliffs, cloaked in various hues of greys and looking very much like an Ansel Adams photograph.
The land of the southwest reminds me of the bigness of God and my own smallness.
It's comforting in an awe-inspiring sort of way, don't you think?
The high cliffs seems to proclaim, "Hah, you live as if you think you are the sum total of the universe. Let this be a reminder to you that you are, afterall, dwarfed by God!"
Not that I am insignificant.
Just that I am not very powerful.
I need this reminder often.
"I will lift up my eyes to the hills -where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth." (Psalm 121:1,2)
Very descriptive. Felt like I was right there with you. Thanks.
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