The Atacama Desert is the second largest desert in the world. (And the largest of all non-polar deserts.) ??
It stretches over a large portion of Northern Chile, spills out over into Southern Peru and some parts of Bolivia.
??It is officially the driest place on our planet, sometimes with many years passing before seeing a single drop of rain.??
It is arguably the oldest desert on earth, and there is prominent evidence that suggests it did not experience significant rainfall from the years 1570-1971, which is a considerable length of time. ??
As you might have guessed by now, the Atacama Desert is a rather desolate place. There is very little animal life, little vegetation besides the occasional desert flowers and cacti.
Similarly, there are not many people who have made their homes in this incredibly vast desert. ??Most towns are located on or near the Pacific coastline of Chile, however there are some towns inland that have grown to significant size in recent years, especially due to the mining opportunities in such a mineral rich desert. One such town is called Calama, and that is where I lived for the month with my team during month 9 of my Race.??
The Atacama is a dry desert, and so is month 9. ??
I came into month 9 tired, delirious, and ready to go home; I remember thinking, “12 more weeks? I’m so close to home, can’t we just call it a day now?” and then I heard we were going to live in an unforgiving desert, far away from the ocean I had been praying for, far away from all the other teams, far away from any of the beauty and rugged landscape I had always associated with Chile- and worst of all, as far away from my dream destination of Patagonia as we could be.
I guessed there would be no off-day trip to Patagonia, seeing as it would take a full two days’ journey to get there by bus. I was disheartened, exhausted, and disenchanted. ??
The Atacama is a dry desert, as is month 9, as was my spirit at the beginning of the month.??
But then God sent the rain.??
As we waited in the Santiago bus station at midnight for our 30 hour bus that would take us north to Calama to begin our month, I met a woman who’s name was Rosanna. She spoke no English, and I only had a month of recent Spanish (thanks, Argentina) at my disposal, plus two years’ of high school Spanish from what seemed like a billion years ago in my arsenal, but something about this woman struck my spirit and I couldn’t help but dive in.??
We began to talk, from what I could understand, she told me that her sons were far from her. One in Peru, one in Bolivia, and she was trying to get into contact with them, but neither of them were able to get their phones to work, because they had no money to buy minutes with. She wanted to get to them, to help them, but she didn’t know where they were exactly. She said she didn’t know which bus to take. She wanted to know if we were going to either of those places, because maybe God put her in our path for a reason.
She was carrying a Spanish bible, but she said she couldn’t read it. ??I asked if I could hold it, and I opened it. I asked if I could read it to her, and she nodded. My fingers quickly found Isaiah 53, even though my mind hadn’t registered which passage to choose yet.
I knew I didn’t have many words to offer her, because my Spanish vocabulary was seriously limited at that point, but I knew how to read Spanish, so I began to read to her.
As I stood there, mind racing with how on earth I was going to help bring any comfort to this distraught woman, also vaguely wondering why on earth I had chosen Isaiah 53 of all chapters, doubting whether or not this would bring the right sort of comfort, second-guessing every bit of my ability to help in any way, reading along in my gringo accent- I glanced up and noticed she had begun to cry.
I finished reading the passage and asked if I could pray for her. She nodded. We prayed there for a few moments, but then it was interrupted- our bus was leaving. NOW. My team was racing to grab their bags, and I quickly had to say goodbye to my new friend…
She just stared at us as we quickly took off and I shouted goodbyes, and promises that I would pray for her, and that God will bless her and help her- and she just watched us leave, wiping tears from her eyes. ??
To this day, I have no idea if I helped her. Or brought her any comfort. Or if she was ever able to find her sons. I think about her from time to time and send up a quick prayer for her.??
Something about that experience brought refreshment to my desert spirit, though.
The Lord had whispered to my tired heart, “I still have so much more for you to do over the next 12 weeks. Don’t give up. Don’t wither in the desert. The rain is coming.”
??Oh, He did have so much more. We hadn’t even arrived in our home city for the month yet, and I was already discovering that Chile was going to be one of the most rich, redemptive, magical, renewing months I would ever experience.
??This is the first of four blogs about my time in Chile. I can’t wait to share with you the rest of my stories. Thank you for reading.
