“The parched ground will become a pool, and springs of water will satisfy the thirsty land.” (Isaiah 35:7).
My sister was born in an Argentinian province that has beautiful mountains with very unique, clean, fast-flowing streams.
My family and I lived in the capital of the province for several years, and on weekends we would go to the outskirts to spend some quiet time in nature. The Adventist campground was located an hour away from the city, so it was one of our usual destinations.
There was a stream there which, in part of its trajectory, formed a natural pool where baptisms were frequently held and further on it turned into a cascade that fell onto a pool. As a little girl I remember we would spend hours swimming in the stream, which was pretty deep.
One Sabbath afternoon, several years later, I was sitting next to that same stream. Except this time it was practically dry. There was only a thread of water, and in some places the current totally stopped. On its banks, there were some weeping willow branches, hanging, caressing the earth, as if wanting to comfort it from its absence of water. It was a serious draught. A profound paradox. It was interesting that the weeping willow was just then the one providing comfort. But that’s the way we often are, we comfort ourselves in a Land that has endless years of draught and pain.
The scenery, which had once been green, was now mostly brown.
But I unexpectedly saw a yellow flower springing up from among some reeds; reeds that were caressed by weeping willow leaves. It represented hope springing up among poverty; the hope we, in our sadness, have the obligation to share; the hope that will remain until there are pools and springs of water everywhere once again, waters dug up in the desert, torrents in the midst of loneliness.
I read Isaiah chapter 35 in silence, prayerfully, and remembered what was said about the prophet in Prophets and Kings, «What though the Lord’s messenger meet with opposition and resistance? Isaiah had seen the King, the Lord of hosts; he had heard the song of the seraphim, «The whole earth is full of His glory;»…Throughout his long and arduous mission he carried with him the memory of this vision» (ch. 25, p. 310).
Let’s also remember where we’re going and that, even if almost everything dries up, there’s still hope.