Deep in thought, David stared out of the Las Vegas hotel window. He couldn’t possibly be looking at anything interesting, considering our view was a second story rooftop that held the hotel generator and some power boxes. So I asked, “What are you thinking about, Mr. H?”
“I’m figuring out how I would get you out of here if there was a fire right outside our door.”
“Yep! Here’s how I would get you to safety…”
Protection—a refuge in the desert.
The next night we were with friends—fifty-two stories above the ground on of the rooftop of the Rio Hotel. Not recognizing the songs and feeling our age, we danced to the club music. David drew me close and whispered, “You are the girl I dream about—the only one I think of.”
Love—a refuge in the desert.
Back in Denver and in front of the moving carousel, we watched bags drop while waiting for ours. An elderly lady asked David to get her bag. She pointed to the smallest piece of luggage as it approached us. David grabbed the handle and pretended to lift it as he grunted. Still holding it, he followed her bag moving along with the carousel, grunting and groaning and acting like it was too heavy for him to lift. The woman looked at him puzzled. “I didn’t think it was that heavy,” she said.
Laughing, I directed my attention to her. “He’s a jokester, and he thinks he’s funny.” David finally lifted it from the carousel and gently placed it before her.
“He is funny,” she laughed, “you got a good one.” She thanked him, winked, and waived goodbye.
Humor—a refuge in the desert.
This morning, I watch the dark sky become lighter as the day approaches. My eyes hover over the word, refuge, as I read Psalm 61, 62, and 63.
As I reflect on our weekend trip, I pause smiling at each moment we shared.
I give thanks for a husband who is water in the desert.
A refuge for me.