A Memory

We’d been walking up the mountain for about an hour, a steep, uninspiring climb up a gravel road. Our initial enthusiasm for this week-long backpacking trip was already waning because we were so hot; the summer thus far had been one of the hottest on record. We’d looked forward to the cool of the mountains, but North Carolina was just as hot as Memphis, TN. I was seriously regretful. And hot. And thirsty.

Several times we had to yell, “Truck!” and move to the side to let one pass, then curse the exhaust, the dust. My mouth was totally dry; the heat was making me feel sick, and this was just the first hour of our first day of hiking.

But then, to our collective joy and surprise, upon rounding a bend, we saw that one of the trucks had lost some watermelons, which were lying there freshly split open and ready for us to pounce upon. Which we did with all the enthusiasm of children on Christmas morn. I have never been so thirsty or had my thirst quenched so exquisitely. That was 30 years ago, but I can still visualize the scene, recall the sheer pleasure of diving into those watermelon pieces, of being so thoroughly satisfied and refreshed.

That memory came to me this morning in church as our pastor taught from the scriptures. How thirsty I am each week; how I long to drink long draughts of pure, clean water. How glad I am that our pastor’s teaching is sound, rooted in the sacred writings. How grateful I am that for one hour I can sing along with my fellow travellers songs of hope, of praise. That together we affirm our need for, our reliance on, our trust in and our love for the One we call Beautiful. Jesus.