I am often fascinated by the process of reflecting on and writing about my Nevada desert experiences. My husband and I have shared some remarkable times in the Nevada desert, most unforgettable, many adored. Then again, memory is pliable. It can be prodded and prompted. It can be drawn across a framework of facts: tugged, fitted and pinned. Or stretched so thinly that reality tears, leaving a scant remnant of actual events, compelling us to weave a past from imagination and longing or–if we are content to linger in memory and contemplation–mysteries of God.