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We pulled into the gate of Red Rock Canyon preserve. Barry’s rumbling voice seemed to be a source of annoyance for the lady in the booth selling parking passes.  We noted her look of derision as we paid the entry fee but quickly turned our attention to the ineffable multicolored mountain vistas ahead. While attempting to keep Barry’s deep and loud voice to a minimum, he rarely cooperated.  The man was built to bellow.  If I’m being honest, and I am, we were a little amused at a few of the annoyed looks derived from Barry’s voice echoing off the mountains.  As we twisted through the valley toward higher ground, I began ruminating about people who spent time in wildernesses.

The Israelites had a word for the desert: Midbar, meaning a desolate place and a gathering place for feeding.  The duality of being fed in a desert place intrigued me.  Many biblical luminaries spent time in the wilderness: Moses for 40 years, David for seven years, Paul for three years, Jesus for 40 days, and John the Baptist made the wilderness his permanent home.  Spending time in the desert involved testing or preparation for ministry, as desert experiences profoundly impacted all who seemed to find themselves alone in the wilderness. In the ancient texts, it seemed as if leaving the desert was like emerging from a cocoon fully transformed and in an entirely different season.  Leaving the desert was an announcement of transformation.  Why does God like to meet people in the desert?  Why does God speak to people in the desert of their days?

We pulled into a gravel parking corral and silenced Barry’s voice, allowing natural sounds to take the stage.  The observation deck reminded me of a zoo as we approached it, but instead of overlooking a cramped imitation of nature, we gazed at vast mountains of vivid red strata between burnt orange and light earth tones.  Taking a deep breath of clear air, we left the safety of the observation deck for the great unknown.

As we hesitantly approached the base of the first mountain, deep red stripes of the monolith before me began to seem more like a warning signal, but one good thing about being out of shape is getting a runner’s high with only a brief climb. The path through a narrow pass into a tight canyon was wide enough for two… barely. The canyon walls on both sides extended skyward for a hundred feet before curving in on themselves to provide a canopy of colors backed by the blue, cloudless sky.  The canyon also provided respite in the form of shade, which hikers must appreciate on peak summer days.

Still ruminating, I considered that perhaps the vast emptiness encouraged gratefulness: When you lack provisions, you are at the mercy of your maker. Physical wilderness encourages a deeper reliance on God, as does emotional wilderness.

These deep thoughts occurred as I bounded off nearly perpendicular surfaces to propel myself forward.

Moses hiked the wilderness for forty years in sandals. He must have had the most muscular ankles in the Old Testament.  Before hiking through the valley, I thought hiking shoes were for the weak, but the treacherous terrain changed my mind.  I had pain in areas of my lower leg that I did not know existed.

We emerged on the other end of the narrow, sloped pass to a vista as intense as the ones we had left behind.  A mile of open, cacti-infused landscape separated us from the next soul-stirring mountain range.  In silence, we walked the partial circumference of the mountain. I breathed the fresh air and absorbed the stillness. Regardless of diversity in individual experiences, silence may be a common thread for anyone who has spent time in the desert.  Maybe that is why God used it to connect with his chosen in both testaments.  There is very little here to compete with God’s voice. The stillness is his megaphone.

My friend and I listened to God’s voice for a few more moments, then headed back the way we’d come, seeing the same scenery… but changed ourselves. Arriving gratefully back at the car, we fired up Barry’s 800-horsepower header-clad engine to ease out of the Red Rock Canyon Park and head back to Vegas. Hot, sweaty, and deeply satisfied, I left the mountains behind, but the impressions they made travel with me to this day.