Meandering

High in the forested mountain, a burst of water comes bubbling up. Why it started there, in that hidden place is a mystery. Spreading out, it searches for the path it is to follow. There isn’t one readily visible, so with tenacity and confidence it presses forward, looking for that indentation; the hollowed decline in the ground. Success!

Following the downward dip in the ground, the water flows. Sometimes it seems to follow an exact, obvious path that makes perfect sense, then suddenly, a shift; a deviation; a random change of direction as an unexpected obstacle looms up, making the easy downward flow alter its course. It seems haphazard, but it isn’t. The obstacle is there for a reason. The stream does not know why it’s there or how the obstacle came to be in the way, but nonetheless, there it is and it must be navigated.

Success! The resilient water finds the best route around, over or through the offending obstacles and soldiers on to its destination. Where is that place? What will it look like? Will it be a long journey? Will there be any more obstacles or is the path now clear and straightforward?

The downward descent slows for a bit and the stream meanders along with no obvious route to is wanderings. It moves from here to there; around that rock, over that fallen branch; gurgling and swirling as little rocks, sticks and leaves beneath the surface shape its route. The path may be rocky and tricky to navigate, but there is such beauty in the journey, if one can take a bit of time to see it.  The water plays its gently flowing, or at times, powerful rushing music as it dances over, around and through those things that lie in its path. That in itself is lovely.

The stream may stay in this slow, meandering space for a bit; almost as if it is resting for what lies ahead. There is peace and rest here; deep pools reflecting prisms of light as the sun filters through pine-scented branches. Small bugs dart to and fro on their own journeys; busy and focused. Animals may stop by for some refreshment; finding nourishment here and leaving their footprints in the soft, pungent soil; adding to or taking from the stream; the dance of life. Connection.

Eventually the stream picks up speed and the time for calm is over. Heading down the mountain, it rushes head on into boulders, large fallen trees and other forest-y things that would like to block its way. The pull of its final destination forces the water to find a way over, around, through and it does; it always does. It may be wild and gushing and completely chaotic; or slow and methodical; plodding. But it will always reach its destination. The way has been charted out for this stream before the it even existed. I picture my life in this way, too. I relate to the stream and the obstacles it has to overcome, along with the times of rest and meandering, lazy peace. We all have a destination and we will all reach it.

My destination is the eternal arms of Jesus.

 

 

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