Arriving to the desert

I live in a desert.

I don’t mean like Phoenix.

I mean like drive an hour north, and you’ll find nothing around you but sand.

Drive an hour south, and you’ll find… more sand.

My neighborhood, Habitat, is about thirty minute outside of the city in the…

End of the highway, full view of the dunes, cactus farms, occasional smell of burning trash, neighborhood construction…

Desert.

Walk from the annual school field trip to a monument for the soldiers who died in the War of the Pacific

Tacna is the first desert that I have ever seen.

My first impression of the expansive permanency of the desert was my first month in country. I traveled with my host sister for about three hours through the desert to the next largest city, a literal oasis. On this particular day, this NOLA girl was feeling a little homesick, and she thought, “What have I gotten myself into?” Little by little this past year and a half I’ve arrived to the desert.

Tacna is the first desert that I have ever experienced.

Arriving to the desert is a physical process.

I arrived when my hair and skin weren’t constantly dried out.

I started taking showers in the morning because the water is often cut off at night.

There was the grand revelation of saving water by bucket flushing laundry water.

Then we had the grand inspiration to start composting for a community garden.

And we had the grand failure of fruit flies and ants infesting said compost.

With the perspective and courage of a second year JV, I’ll admit that my first impression of the desert was mixed. I was in awe of a sky full of unclouded, unobstructed stars on the beach. The sight of sand dunes next to the ocean astounded me. More than the beauty, it was the utter hopelessness of the desert that struck me. I passed homes made out of straw in the middle of nothing and was overwhelmed by the unimaginable horrors that moved a person to such a barren land. How can anyone live here? The desert is the first nothingness I have ever seen.

Moving through seeing to experiencing, the desert’s beauty opens my eyes and my heart. She speaks to my soul. Arriving to the desert is a spiritual process. I’m coming to know my spiritual desert. I’m coming to understand my mission as accompaniment and stewardship. I’m walking with God’s people journeying through the desert. I’m learning how to create and participate in oases, which I can only understand as paradise. Surely something as incredible as life in the middle of the desert is a miraculous manifestation of God’s Kingdom. I think Christians and even our JVC community are called to, often miraculously, create oases (build the Kingdom of God).    

The English teacher in me would like to point out the use of the present continuous here (the ing verbs) because I am still very much arriving. Each new start or transition (there are many) is accompanied by an arrival. Each moment of Grace and each time I see something differently are arrivals. The most recent treasure I discovered beholden to the desert is the desert sun. God gives those of us living in the desert and outside of the city the tremendous opportunity to see the sunrise and the sunset each and every day.

I intentionally call our desert sun an opportunity rather than a blessing or a gift. The sun isn’t simply given to you. You have to go out to meet it. Farmers wake up with the sun to get a full day of work. We go to the beach to be warmed and consoled by the sun. We close our eyes and look up to the sky to feel the Divine’s presence. Each day God gives me the opportunity to see the sunrise and the sun set. I just have to go meet it. If I simply get out of bed on time for my morning walk (rare) and sit on our upstairs landing in the evening (rarer), I will see the glory of the sunrise and the sunset. Just. Simply. Those are tricky words. I may see the sun in these ways, but to really experience the miraculous beauty of the desert sun I need just a little more intentionality. Going to meet requires me to leave another place. I must leave my house, leave my comfort zone, leave my culture, leave my ego and my expectations.

Sunset from our upstairs landing

I must let go and let myself be. (This is still hard for me. Rachel, I’m still not a sage.)

I must let go and let myself be

to gratefully welcome the opportunity of each day as an adventure.

The adventure of increasing attentiveness to God’s presence

Since that first month, I’ve prayed to give myself fully to this adventure

Each morning I humbly and hopefully empty myself

and go out to meet the sun

I actively let myself be touched by the Divine

In my work, my family, my friends, my community

Each evening I breathe praise and thanksgiving

And welcome the Graces of wonder and awe

As the sunsets, I marvel at the blessings and challenges of my day

And how I’m coming to live here

Some days are like this—fully alive and attentive. But some days I’m pretty whiny (sorry community), doubtful and/or holed up watching seasons 8-10 of Grey’s Anatomy for the 100^th time. I don’t always take the opportunity to experience the desert sun. Sometimes missing that opportunity really bothers me. When I have enough humor and Grace to be gentle with myself, it bothers me about as much as it bothers my students when I tell them that they´re wasting their English talents by not studying. When I do I find the faith and humility to embrace the desert, I leave my attachments and arrive home.

I’m proud to call Tacna just that

Home.