a moment in the desert

Saturday I left at 3:00 a.m. to go get Brad at the Whitney Portal, armed with a Mapquest printout, an ice chest full of cold good things, and a happy heart. It was an exicting adventure for me, as I am not the best navigator in the world. When Brad and I take trips, he drives the car and maps out the route. I bring cheese and music and books. We get along fine. My food sense is infinitely more defined than my sense of direction. We all have our spiritual gifts.

It is a six hour drive to Whitney Portal.... according to Mapquest. I made it in under five, which may have something to do with the fact that once, on a long desert stretch, I looked down out of my daze and saw I was going 120. Not good, I know. But it happened.

I had the privilege of watching the sun rise over the desert. I was astounded at the beauty and had some flashbacks to my early childhood living at Edwards Air Force base. I had a big tortoise for a pet once. In my mind's eye I could see it walking ahead of me. No leash.

I would like to be able to buy groceries next week and maybe send my kids to college, so I didn't use extra gas by running the air conditioning. I was hot. I stopped to refuel at the only Mini-Mart gas station from Jawbone Canyon to Red Rock (gotta love those names). I took a Sobe out of the ice chest.. It was ice cold. I was fairly panting with anticipation.

But I couldn't get the dang thing open.

I grunted and heaved and it wouldn't twist off no matter what I did. I became desperate.

In the next gas line over I saw a man sitting in his car. He had big beefy shoulders and a military haircut. He looked like he could twist the top off a Buick if he had a mind to. Any feminist notions I have ever had dried up and blew away in about 4 seconds. I tentatively approached his window and he rolled it down.

"Excuse me, sir... uh..I'm really sorry to bother you, but...um... do you think you could open this for me?"

He regarded me sort of hesitantly for a moment and we just sort of looked at one another as I began to simultaneously regret my boldness and notice a little trickle of sweat rolling down the back of my leg. But then he smiled. "Sure. Okay. Yeah."

He reached his right hand out the window, and that's when I saw it. He had a prosthetic arm. And hand.

Now believe me when I tell you this is a classic Jamie Move. Upon reflection I am not at all surprised this happened, but in the moment, I was stunned.

And so I stood there while this man gripped my Sobe with his good hand and made many earnest but unproductive attempts to get hold of the bottle cap with his stiff prosthetic hand. I stood there for about three weeks watching him do this.

At last he somehow grabbed hold of it, and twisted, and by the grace of God Almighty the cap came off.

We both sighed too loudly and laughed too much, and I looked him in the eye, and said, "Thank you so much."

But the thing is, when I looked at him, he was so happy. He smiled at me, with--I'm not kidding--a GRATEFUL look in his eye, and he said, "No. Thank YOU."

And I realized that he was pleased to be of use, to be needed, and I realized again a deep desire all of us humans have. It was a very nice moment.

I think life would be a dry and desolate desert without the people in our lives, the ones we encounter, and the ones God--with His wisdom and incomparable humor-- feels like hooking us up with.

I drove off feeling very grateful to be a part of this big strange family called The Human Race.

And that Sobe? Let me tell you...it was good.