It was my hip that woke me and spoke of rearranging myself so it could decompress. Rolling over to my belly and propping myself up on my elbows I slid the window open to peer out into the desert sky. I took a deep, slow breath of the slightly moist fragrance of the desert. Desert air is not fragrant in the sense of the tropics, but fragrant in the sense of the desert, a mix of green, dry dirt and manure. I even smell coyote. I can imagine your noses wrinkling at the mention of that but suffice it to say I’m left with words to describe an experience. Try and describe the taste of ripe mango, or a sour patch kid candy. The experience is so much more than speaking of it. The same holds true of one's faith. How to describe the comfort of surrender and the gift of His word and will in one's life? How that type of comfort feels….. The use of words cannot really touch it and a person with an experience is never at the mercy of a person with an argument. So my friends with the crinkled noses, you’ll just have to trust me on the fragrance of the desert air. It is sweet in its own way.
Looking to the east I see no light yet and have only the sweet promise of the sun rising. This in itself is a reassurance we all too often take for granted. I am unable to see the constellation of Scorpio this morning due to an unusual fog bank lying low across the horizon. As I rouse myself to move out of the camper bunk, I move straightaway to the furnace. It has been rather temperamental this year and with this cold dampness, I’m looking forward to the soft whir of the furnace as it blows out that heated air that makes the camper warm and toasty. I click it on and step outside into the cold morning.
There is a northwest wind already blowing which immediately foretells a day with yet again unfavorable wind conditions. Surf check over before the sun rises. Darn this La Nina year! Slipping back inside expecting the warm greeting of a toasty interior but instead find the furnace is stubbornly choosing to sleep today. Hmm, it looks like no heat this morning either. I begin the process of layering my clothes and getting the coffee on.
About this time my husband is jostling about, focused on the furnace and why it won’t do what it is designed to do. It stubbornly refuses to crank up and even the coffee isn’t satisfying. The fog is thick, so thick you can’t see the ocean and hidden inside the hem of that layer of fog are the threads of disconsolation and worry for no reason. It begins slowly, insidiously with the problem of the heater and threads its way to other worries. My dear beloved cat was put to sleep five days after we arrived here in Conejo and no one was able to contact me. Woe. The “what if” train starts to roll. We are chug-a-lugging along and then I remember to fix my eyes on what is unseen rather than what is seen. Time for prayer, but for what? Heat? Not really, but it would be nice, right? I'm going to take the matter into my own hands and build a fire. So I begin positioning the wood in the ring. It’s cold and wet and damp. I’m able to get it to start up a bit and am momentarily a little hopeful but it dissipates into a smoldering, smoky, damp, ugly mess. No crisp, warm and crackling fire this morning.
Meantime, grumbles from the mate who is still attempting to get the furnace going. It just won’t crank up and spark to ignite the propane. He comes around the back of the camper with an assortment of wires. I ask him what the wires are for and he explains he is going to get it to spark and I should prepare myself for a loud explosion. Woe and now panic. He’s serious! I had an inspirational book beside me near the fire. No, not to use as the starter for the fire but for me to use as the starter for my spirit. What with all this stuff going on I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. I open it randomly to a page that suggests I tell God exactly how I feel. “I can’t be quiet. I am angry and bitter. I have to speak!” So I begin my silent tirade to the Lord, expressing my fears, my discomfort, how I need his help, keep us safe, keep my sons safe. I need to speak to them but how? He can change it all; I give the reins back to him. I need Him! So many worries. I’m about to drown.
I douse the fire with water and give it a few stirs. The smoke mixes with the fog in a cloying cloud. The morning wasn’t pierced with a loud explosion and the heater still sleeps. So we sit in the morning fog watching our breath hanging in the cold, damp air.
Moments later I look up and see a patch of blue through the gray. The fog slowly begins to lift. As it lifts I spot a friend’s truck on the bluff checking the surf. Robert hops on his bike and rides along the dirt path to the sea looking much like a Mexican peasant. The sky becomes bluer than gray. The sun begins to pour warmth in the morning. The coffee tastes better. My companion returns with the news that our friend has a cell phone with a signal and we can call home today. The rest of this day was blessed and golden and rich. Oh, and by the way, the heater started working too.
