Kash from Atlanta came to us wanting to mark a three year “desert” in his life. After years in a toxic job and a careful plan to shift into tech design so he could better support his wife and future family, everything fell apart just as he was finishing his training. When COVID hit, jobs vanished, savings shrank, and what was meant to be a quick transition became a three-year desert where all he could really do was study, wait, and trust that God still saw him. Applications went unanswered, his pride took hit after hit, and the sense of being a provider was suddenly gone. What stayed was prayer, Scripture, and a slow, humbling trust.

The verse that rose to hold this time was Deuteronomy 8:16:
הַמַּאֲכִלְךָ מָן בַּמִּדְבָּר אֲשֶׁר לֹא־יָדְעוּן אֲבֹתֶיךָ לְמַעַן עַנֹּתְךָ וּלְמַעַן נַסֹּתֶךָ לְהֵיטִבְךָ בְּאַחֲרִיתֶךָ
“Who fed you in the wilderness with manna that your fathers did not know, that He might humble you and test you, to do you good in the end.”

For Kash, this verse felt like a mirror. The desert was not a punishment. It was the place where pride was stripped away, where daily bread arrived just in time, where he had to lean on God for provision and direction. Little by little, small provisions began to feel like manna.

Gabriel imagined his tattoo as an acacia tree made of Hebrew letters, a desert tree that can lie dormant for years and then spring to life with a bit of water. The text and the tree grow together across his chest and along his left arm, where another biblical tattoo already lives. A standing stone in ink, rooted in Deuteronomy 8:16 and in the quiet memory of a season that changed how he understands faith, work, and who carries him through the wilderness.