The Desert, Before and After

The young man did not know what to think when he saw her coming. At first he thought she was a mirage, another hallucination to torment him in his inner struggle. Then, as the tattered edges of her clothes came into focus, he knew she was real. The confusing things about her were the lack of shoes and something else the young man did not at first identify. Coming out of the desert, people always looked worn-out and dirty. She was both of those, and yet something else as well. Glad was the word for it, the young man decided. He wanted to ask her how she had done it and why on earth was she glad? She was, after all, barefoot, sunburned, bruised, and dirty. Caught between his confusion and inner battling- should I go? should I stay?- the young man silently contemplated the ripples of the sand before him.

"Hello," the young woman called out. He looked up, realizing that she had advanced and was determined to speak to him. He nodded. She stopped a few feet from him, her filthy bare toes digging into the grass. Fresh out of the desert she ought to have been looking past him at the gardens and the river, but she only looked at him. "Are you going?" she asked. They both knew what she meant. 

"I, uh, don't know yet," he said. She looked at him very steadily, not speaking. "I might, I guess." Again, she did not speak. "I'm just not sure if it's the right thing, you know?" He looked up, expecting the understanding nod that everyone else had given him. She was still looking at him, but no nod came. He hated the challenge of her silence and finally burst out, "He asked me, but I don't know if I can. What if I don't make it? I don't think it's fair for Him to ask me to do this! I don't know anything, all right?" 

"I know." 

"There's so much here that still needs to be done. Who's going to do it?" 

"It will get done." 

"Why does He want me to do this? I can't make any sense of it," he said. Even the grass felt hard and unforgiving as he settled down, tired from all his thinking. The young woman knelt in front of him, blocking his view of the desert that stretched away and down before them, like the lip of a bowl.

"I wasn't sure either," she said quietly. "I was afraid and everyone told me it would be all right not to do it. Why on earth would He want me to go through a desert? they asked. They said He would still love me if I didn't, and that I must have been dreaming when I heard Him call." She shook her head, remembering. "But I knew I had heard Him. I knew I needed to follow, even if it was something that no one else understood, even if it hurt more than anything else I had ever done." She leaned back on her heels, then sat cross-legged. "You know what else I realized?" 

"What?" the young man asked. 

"You know how everyone says, 'He'll still love you if you don't do this?'" The young man nodded. He had heard this is as well. "I know that's true, but I had to ask myself, 'Will I still love Him?' If the proof of my love for Him is found in doing only what He asks, then why wouldn't I go through a desert? I love Him, I love Him so much. Going through all of that," she tilted her head towards the desert, "all of it has only increased my love for Him and my faith that He will take care of me."

Silence sat between them. The young woman took a breath. "I only wish- She stopped, and dropped her eyes.

"You wish what?"

Inwardly, she wished that he had not asked her. After all, she had not meant to say anything to him in the first place. In fact, she was only going to say "Hello" and then walk past him. There had been something though, about the intense way with which he studied the desert that reminded her of the day she set off on her own journey. She had wanted to help, that was all. Now, without meaning to, she had said too much, almost given away her carefully guarded secret. She had been very close to showing others, but always stopped before it was too late. She glanced up quickly before her eyes found refuge in the familiar lines of her wind chapped hands. He was sitting there, inquisitive in his silence, waiting and watching her. For a moment, she hated him for asking. Would he judge? Would he not speak to her after he saw?

Stilling the thumping in her chest with a deep breath, she kept her eyes on her right sleeve, gripping the edge between her left thumb and forefinger. Slowly at first, then in one swift motion she pulled back her sleeve to the elbow, baring the skin for him to see. She heard the wind blowing over the sand as she imagined in her mind's eye what he saw: a long, jagged wound stretching down the center of her arm from her palm to her elbow.  It was ugly, even though it was slightly healed, and even though she knew her Lord had covered it. In the silence her thoughts ran and ran, bumping into each other. She ought not to have shown him after all. He was going to run away from her, to tell others what she was, to make sure they never spoke to her-

The young man reached forward and gripped her wrist, covering the top of the scar. She looked up, puzzled. Keeping his hand on her wrist, he copied the motion she had just used, pulling back his sleeve and then rolling his arm so that his wrist was now in her palm. She leaned forward, seeing the faint line of an old scar beginning at his wrist and ending at his elbow.

It was identical to her own.

"How?" she asked.

"When I was younger," he said. "It was a deep wound, and they thought I might not recover. Then, one way or another, He brought me here." For the first time, the young woman noticed the gardens up the hill beyond where they sat.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"This is the place where wounds like that are healed," the boy said. "He didn't tell you where you were going?"

"No, He didn't. My wound," she paused. "It was still fresh when I entered the desert. No one thought I would survive."

"But you did," the young man said, smiling at her. She smiled back, relieved. The young man stood, reaching down for her hand. Everything was so clear to him now. The worry lines had gone and his face was clear. "Come with me." He led her over the grass, up the hill to the garden gate. She went in, turning towards him when he did not follow. Behind her, he caught sight of the fountains fed by the river, the flowering vines that climbed up the walls, and the open courtyard of the healing house. 

 "In there," he said, gesturing to the house, "Ring the bell, and someone will come to show you where to go. Do everything they tell you, even if it hurts," he said. He knew there was much pain before her, as there had been for him. 

"You aren't coming," she said. It was a statement, not a question. 

"No, I'm not," he said. "I have somewhere to go." 

She nodded. She knew the struggle he was about to face and advised, "When the nights are long, keep praising Him. Follow the road, even when it grows narrow. And pray for all you're worth." 

"I will." He smiled. "Thank you." She put some of her remaining strength into squeezing his hand before turning into the garden. He took a deep breath of the sweet flower scented air and turned, walking into the desert.