The Kern River Miracle: Our Home Within

 In 1973, after my residency training in psychiatry in Portland, Oregon, Joyce and I needed a break from education and training. We hit the road in our VW Microbus, complete with tie-dye curtains. After eight months of travel, most recently in Mexico, we ended up in Los Angeles, where we spent a week visiting relatives and friends. We were hit with the inevitable, “Where are you going to live?” Their well-meaning question triggered a place of deep sadness, especially in Joyce. Although my Gemini nature allowed me to feel more content on the road, Joyce’s Taurus nature longed for a physical home, a place to put roots down.

We headed north. Once on the road, I glanced over at Joyce in the passenger seat. She was quietly crying, and said, “I’m so tired of all the traveling. It’s been eight months. I’m not like you. I need a home.”

I said, “How about we head up into the Sierras for the night and talk about where we want to go?” I thought gaining altitude might offer us a better perspective for the next step of our journey.

Joyce managed a feeble “Okay.”

I saw a sign announcing the Kern River Highway, and exited. Soon we were winding up the foothills, closely following the river. I glanced over and saw that Joyce was crying harder now, and I felt it was time to stop. I turned into a picnic area and parked the van.

I leaned over and held Joyce, and tried to comfort her as she sobbed the words, “I feel so far away from home. Please, Barry, I just want a home.”

We sat there a long time in the lengthening afternoon shadows, Joyce alternating between crying and praying for guidance. I felt helpless in my attempts to reassure her that it would all work out somehow, but I kept trying.

Finally, she said, “Please, Barry, stop trying to fix me. Just be with me and hold me.

That I could do, even though I am a man.

After a while, I insisted we go for a walk. We left the van and proceeded down a path to the river. Joyce found a rock she could sit on right at the river’s edge, where she could be alone with her feelings. Sitting by a river, watching the sunlight sparkle on the moving water, is one of her favorite things to do.

I wandered upstream a few hundred feet along a path through the sycamore trees. Walking in the woods has always helped me. I must have been looking at the ground, avoiding roots and rocks, for I didn’t notice it until I was within a few feet. There, directly in front of me, carved on a sycamore at about eye level, in big bold letters enclosed within a heart, were the words, “JOYCE, HOME IS JUST A FEELING.”

At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes. In a trance, I walked over to the tree to touch the carving, to make sure it was actually there. No, it wasn’t a hallucination. My fingers traced the carved letters.

I looked around in amazement. My mind was racing. Could this be some strange practical joke? Could one of our friends from LA have raced up here ahead of us, anticipate the picnic area we would stop at, then dash into the trees to madly carve the message?

Come on, Barry, you’re getting a bit paranoid. I turned around in a complete circle, waiting for someone to jump out of the trees and yell, “Surprise!” But there was not a soul around.

I looked again at the strange carving. It would have been much easier for me if the carver had omitted the name Joyce. The generic message, “home is just a feeling,” would have been enough. But no, the impact had to be very personal!

My legs felt strangely wobbly, and I really don’t remember if I was laughing or crying as I ran to get Joyce. By the time I reached her, she had settled into a peaceful meditation, and seemed at first a bit annoyed at my excited intrusion. Then she got scared. “Barry, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. What happened?”

I could barely speak as I reached out, took her hands, and helped her stand up. “Joyce, you won’t believe this. Come with me.”

As I guided her along the trail, she kept asking, “What is it? What’s going on, Barry?”

“Just wait.”

Along the way, my mind started questioning everything. What if we get back to the tree and nothing’s there? What if I dreamed this whole thing? Or what if the carving was made by non-human hands, meant only for me to see one time, then it would disappear? In Mexico, we had entered the world of Yogananda, reading his Autobiography of a Yogi, where the miraculous was commonplace.

All these thoughts simply evaporated as we approached the tree, and I saw that the carving was indeed still there.

It took Joyce a moment to register the carving but, when she did, she became transfixed. We stood there a long time, eyes fixed on the tree, then one another, then back to the tree. We thanked God for this obvious, and miraculous, message just for my beloved wife.

Had not Joyce seen the carving as well, I could’ve had trouble trusting my senses. I’ve hardly ever seen carvings on a tree much different than “John loves Mary” or “Frank was here.” This message was so intimately personal and relevant. I had my camera in the van, but it almost seemed sacrilegious to record this miracle on film. Our hearts had been permanently imprinted with the truth of this divine message. It really didn’t matter whether the carving was done by human hands or was materialized just for us. It mattered only that a Higher Power led us to this tree, and is leading us still.

Since that moment on the Kern River, we have been in the process of looking within for the feeling of home. We would, of course, find a series of physical homes leading up to where we now live, but where we physically live is becoming less and less important. How wonderful to remember that divine signpost, arriving just when we needed it, that our true home, our spiritual home, is a feeling available to us at any time and place.

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About Joyce & Barry Vissell: Joyce & Barry, a nurse/therapist and psychiatrist couple since 1964, are counselors near Santa Cruz, CA, who are passionate about conscious relationship and personal-spiritual growth. They are the authors of 9 books and a new free audio album of sacred songs and chants. Visit their web site at SharedHeart.org for their free monthly e-heartletter, their updated schedule, and inspiring past articles on many topics about relationship and living from the heart. 

Joyce & Barry's Website: https://sharedheart.org/