On the large cinema screen the flowing folds of sculpted sand seemed to reach right into the auditorium. We watched as a family fled their persecutors and found themselves in the middle of the Gobi Desert. ‘Gobi’, in Mongolian means ‘waterless place’, and the desert is mostly waterless. It is a huge swath of land, magnificent, full of awe and splendour, but also daunting and feral, as the fleeing family found.

              With long cold winters, relentless hot summers, and springs and autumns furious with sandblasting cyclones, the Gobi is an unpredictable landscape. Yet, despite its nature, the saturated silence is not devoid of life. Hardy nomads, who know the character of the land, are at home in the wilderness. Gazelles, camels and Gobi bears flourish. There are lush valleys, shrubs and lakes. At night, the vaulted sky explodes with a thousand galaxies.

              It is a fascinating place, austere and beautiful, barren and fertile, not too dissimilar to the seasons of our lives. We all experience times of awe and wonder as well as days of heartache and desolation.

The children of Israel experienced forty years in the desert. There, God provided them with a rock of refuge. In the Gobi, spines of cliff and rock break up the sandy desert, providing shelter from sandstorms and the lethal summer heat. On a hot day the sand burns. By night the heat has dissipated, leaving the cliffs as the only warm place of refuge. The rigours of the desert push us beyond comfort to expose our vulnerabilities: frailties in our body, shortfalls in our characters and the delicacy of our faith, all of which brings us to the realisation that we cannot sustain ourselves.

The rock that God provided for the Israelites in the wilderness was Himself; a refuge, a place of safety and help. In times of despair, we too must turn to that same rock for He is the only one who can truly protect us. The Israelites’ rock was not only a shield, but it also gave them water. The sandstone of the Gobi’s rocks is often pocked with tafone, which provide a tiny cup in which to catch moisture.  

Against the extremes of the desert, water keeps us alive. But God gives us more than water. He feeds us with sustenance from the rock. He renews our strength and energy, not simply to sustain us but that we might change, that He might work something beautiful in our hearts and fill us with His goodness.

In the onslaught of the storm, bewildered and disorientated, it is great comfort to know that the rock we cling to will not crumble. That our God is a place of shelter and refuge, a door of hope and a way to experience sweetness as He works beauty in our lives. What a blessing to know that Jesus too is altogether familiar with the desert.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2025