A Gift from The Table
When the Desert Blossoms Like a Rose
Sometimes the most beautiful things are born in the hardest seasons.
This new month offering is a small gift - a song and a story that grew out of a time of waiting, weariness, and quiet prayers for rain.
If you are walking through a dry place, we pray this brings you comfort.
When the Desert Blossoms Like a Rose
“The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom.”
— Isaiah 35:1–2
We were weathering a perfect storm of our own.
Once again, I found myself in a waiting room -
waiting for our grandson,
waiting for answers,
waiting for peace.
He was undergoing yet another evaluation - this time for impulse control.
And I sat there, painfully aware of my own lack thereof.
To distract myself, I reached for a magazine.
Inside, a story bloomed.
A miracle in Death Valley.
A place so dry, so forsaken,
so cracked with time and heat -
suddenly drenched in rain.
Record rainfall fell like grace upon the desert,
and something long hidden began to stir.
Tiny seeds,
buried for years beneath scorched sand,
softened.
Washed of their waxy coating,
they awakened -
free at last to do what they were created to do:
to root,
to rise,
to bloom.
Soon, that barren valley became a living canvas -
a garden of wild color, like praise.
Strangers traveled far to behold the beauty.
But none of it came without the storm.
That image would not leave me.
It lodged in the deep soil of my soul.
I began to see my own inner deserts -
places long dry and aching.
I wasn’t bold enough to ask for a perfect storm,
but quietly, gently, I began to pray for rain.
Each night, while my husband slept beside me,
I whispered heavenward:
“Let it rain on us, Lord.
Let it rain.”
We could feel the weariness in our bones -
the wilderness wanderings,
the long deferrals of hope,
the aching spaces of not-yet.
We were parched.
And slowly, I felt my own self-protection begin to melt away.
Looking back,
I realize that even as I prayed for rain,
I was unknowingly saying yes
to the storm that had come.
A storm fierce enough
to drive our roots deep -
deep into the soil of God’s love.
And now?
I see small blooms.
These words, this song,
my paintings -
they are my fragile petals,
unfolding.
And the very thought brings me to my knees.
Are you in the midst of your own storm?
If so, take heart.
Let the rain wash away your layers of self-protection.
Let it soften what once seemed hardened.
Let it drive your roots deep into Love.
For what God waters, He will grow.
And even in your driest place,
you will bloom -
yes, even there,
even now -
you may blossom like a rose.
Blessing
May the God who sends rain upon the wilderness
nurture every hidden seed within you.
May your roots grow deep in His love,
your heart soften beneath His mercy,
and may your life, in due season,
blossom like the rose.
If these offerings encourage you, your support truly helps us continue preparing and sharing The Table each month.
A small community of listeners is helping us keep the Table open, and we are deeply grateful.
With love,
Kirk & Deby Dearman
If you missed the April Table of His Presence - click here to go there.