Yuliia Lapushanska
Google
🌵 In the Desert of Atacama
(A Psalm from the Dry Places)
Lord, this land is silent.
No rivers run. No trees reach.
The ground is cracked, and the wind carries dust instead of song.
And yet —
You are here.
Even where rain forgets to fall,
Your presence remembers.
Even when the earth is empty,
Your Spirit fills.
In this driest desert,
the soul feels its thirst.
And in that thirst,
we remember You.
Not the rain we want,
but the Living Water we need.
For what is Atacama,
if not a mirror of the heart without You?
Dry.
Silent.
Still hoping.
But You —
You bring streams in the wasteland.
You make flowers bloom in scorched places.
(Isaiah 35:1, Isaiah 43:19)
You are not afraid of our dryness.
You meet us there.
You speak in silence.
You turn dust into praise.
So let this desert teach us:
It is better to be dry with God
than lush without Him.
To You, O Lord, be the glory —
in green pastures,
and in burning sand.
In overflow,
and in aching thirst.
For You alone are our rain.
You alone are our rest.