My husband was gravely ill. In desperation, his doctors prescribed bypass heart surgery, a new and untested procedure at the time. Bob and I were both frightened and needed a reprieve. A week before his surgery, we packed a picnic and on a glorious California day drove out to the Mojave Desert.
Bob loved the desert air, it was so dry and easy to breathe. We traveled aimlessly on back roads lined with desert flowers, yucca and the lovely palo verde tree. And then, on an off-road track, we chanced upon a path.
We left the car, and the path led us to a gentle stream of water. Such streams aren’t unheard of in the Mojave in June, but they’re rare.
We sat beside a shaded pool and over the next few hours—picnicking, sunning—we were as happy as we’d ever been during our 25 years of marriage. The water, so unexpected, so soothing as we soaked our feet, especially pleased Bob. “The Lord leadeth us beside the still waters,” he said to me. And indeed, as we talked, the waters seemed to wash away our fears. Our souls were restored.
Reluctantly we left. But back at the car, Bob realized he’d left his knife on a poolside stone and I walked back to retrieve it.
There was the knife, glinting in the sun. But the brook…the pool…they were gone. Where there had been water minutes earlier, there were now only stones and sand.
The following week, Bob died on the operating table, his heart condition even worse than the doctors had suspected. I’m sure, though, that he died in peace, assured by our stream that he would dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
