Melody’s Malady

By Han Ying

This is another tale from the summer of 1973, when I took a course in desert survival from BYU (See Chocolate Waterfalls). The day when this incident took place was part of a phase of the course called ‘Group Expedition’. The entire class of college students participated in this phase together. The day was typical for this time of the year in Southern Utah. There was not a cloud in the sky and the temperature was near 100 degrees. Our group had been hiking in these conditions all day long. We were exhausted and parched. The sun was beginning to set when our leaders found a place they thought would be a good spot for setting up camp to spend the night. We were all quite happy to unload our gear and rest our tired, aching feet. Then, to our great disappointment, the leaders informed us that we had to continue our march. They explained that the water at this place was so brackish and salty that it was not drinkable. The nearest good drinking water was still many miles away. However, we had no choice but to continue our hike until we reached it. Otherwise, we risked getting caught in the desert heat with no drinking water.

Amid many moans and complaints, we hauled our tired bodies off the ground, loaded up our gear and trudged on. Up to this point, I thought I had born our hardships well. After all, this desert experience was not intended to be a nice little walk in the park. I expected to be challenged by the hardships of living in the desert. But now I was beginning to lose my will to bear it gracefully. My tired muscles ached in places I didn’t know I even had. My throat was parched and dry. My feet were painfully sore. My discomfort was so great that my mood began to get dark and ugly. I began to wonder why I had been so foolish to take this course and pay good money to feel this kind of agony.

While I was thus wallowing in my misery, something happened that changed everything. One of our leaders asked me and a friend of mine to help a girl named Melody. Apparently, Melody had a thyroid condition called hypoglycemia. She was so weak that she couldn’t continue without some help. My friend and I took her gear and added it to our own backpacks. We then placed her arms around our necks, with one of us on each side of her. In this manner, my friend and I carried most of Melody’s weight as we continued on down the trail. The sun fell below the horizon and darkness slowly engulfed us as we stumbled and struggled on our way. Initially, my inner rebellion was almost to the point of boiling over. How could they possibly be so uncaring and insensitive to my plight? Instead of relieving my personal suffering, our course instructors had had the nerve to add to my burden of misery by asking me to help someone else. I had no idea that a small miracle was about to happen.

It only took a few moments for me to perceive that Melody’s sufferings were far greater than mine. The pain and exhaustion were in her voice as she apologized for being such a bother to us. She tried valiantly to be cheerful and hummed softly to herself as we trudged on. As I witnessed her courage, my own heart began to soften. Instead of concentrating on my own troubles, I began to think of ways to help the time pass more pleasantly for her. I tried to give her encouragement with little complements about how well she was holding up. I tried to hum little harmonies to her faintly uttered tunes. My reluctant acceptance of this assignment turned out to be a great blessing to me. It made the time go much more quickly than it had before.

It was well after midnight when we finally arrived at the good watering hole. I didn’t mind that my place for sleeping was on the rocks of a dry creek bed. My former weariness and discomfort were no longer a part of my consciousness. The anger and bitterness had been replaced by the warm glow of satisfaction that comes from serving others. I pondered upon this small miracle as I drifted into a peaceful and gratitude filled state of slumber. Melody’s malady had healed my troubled soul.