Better the Desert

It is a beautiful wilderness.
Empty and yet not empty.
Full of silent life.
Only the tough live here,
some longer than others.
Some of us have made a home of it.
We have come to grips with the rawness,
with a world that lacks more than it has.

Jesus spent his time here.
Forty days and nights.
He had it worse. You at least eat well
and sleep protected.
Not so important, the devil mostly leaves me
alone.

Not that there are not temptations,
but there are none of those
“I can give you the world.” enticements.
But then, your expectations are low.
Shattered time and time again.
From stone to sand. No wonder
the wilderness feels like home;
familiar with too many windows.
too many mirrors, all out of a circus,
distended and distorting.

Better the wilderness
where you can stand and look over the sands
like a poor man’s Lawrence of Arabia.
Here, with less to see, you can see more of it.
Looking outward, you see more of yourself
and if there are fewer souls to share the space,
you can mean more to the few sojourners you encounter
than you ever did in the busyness
of the world you once lived in
where you were simply a rung on the ladder.

No, you are content here.
In the wilderness. Living smaller
and less obvious. You are more
appreciative and less judgmental
because here in the wilderness
we are all struggling to survive.

About this poem.

My devotions this morning had me reading about the Temptation of Jesus in the desert. (Matthew 4:1-11)

The longer I do the work I do, the more I realize few people are without their struggles. And the longer I do the work I do, the more I realize my struggles are smaller than they first seem.

A former colleague of mine from when I was doing TV work (which I did for about 30 years) recently asked me what it felt to “step down” in careers to be a small town pastor. Truth is, though to some my impact was broader then, I like where I am, where my impact is deeper.

I am fond of deserts.

From all that, this poem. Poetry is never about one thing.