Threads. Crumbs. Rocks.

Standing in the darkness reaching for something to hold, to grasp and touch.

Can a thread be a lifeline?
A crumb, a meal?
A rock, a source of safety and comfort?

Holding on by a thread, the smallest thread of hope. 

Thin and fine, fragile as a spider’s web.
The tiniest thread waiting, hoping to be woven
into something strong and beautiful. 

heart of the desert

Being present to life allows hope to arise in the most unexpected ways. Although I penned the above words many years ago, my mind now turns to a time I spent traveling in the Sinai desert of Egypt. The threads remind me of my fellow pilgrims. There were days when I couldn’t carry my own hope—the road seemed too arduous, the heat too stifling, the surroundings unfamiliar—and then a friend would notice something in a life-giving way. Each person brought their unique thread of hope into our midst and our threads, while separate, were woven collectively in a luscious tapestry.

On the same trip, we encountered Bedouin people who, by Western standards, were living in poverty— on mere crumbs compared to our lavishness. Their hospitality, however, exceeded any I’ve known elsewhere, for it was shared in abundance and the meager offerings became a banquet to my soul.

And the rocks? Well, the soaring rocks became our friends. They provided much-needed shade in the heat of day and served as windbreak in the breeze of night. One formation even held the shape of a giant heart at its center. Hope sprang from the most unusual places and threads were woven into something strong and everlasting.

(July 28 excerpt from As I Lay Pondering.)