I have prickles and sharp edges. I feel exposed in the sun. When I dance too close to the light my back burns.
I wish for leaves, for something to cover myself with.
If you come too close, I’ll stab you.
I am a desert dweller, always thirsty, always waiting for water, for rain.
You could believe everything about me is too hard, too sharp, too dry.
You would be right.
Until you’re not.
Until the God of Spiked Things reaches out His arm of audacious grace and makes a cactus flower. Until He takes a barren place and makes it beautiful.
There is no other reason I am lovable. There is no other reason for a flowering cactus.
He likes to make the things that are not into things that are. Spikes to flowers, dirt to man, death to life.
With Him all things are possible, and He makes all things new. He is the hope in the desert.
joining Emily for Imperfect Prose who happened to be talking about desert things today too. 🙂