To the Water

The psalmist is no stranger to human trouble.  His God stands close to the chaos.  The phone call that rips into the quiet and leaves us raw.  The crevice that suddenly opens. Events surge around us and pull us deeper.  We claw in the darkness.  Call to God, reminds the psalmist.  These waters will not close upon you.  You will be lifted up.

Ordinary time. The quiet of daily tasks.  Life flows like water.

Because she loved the child, she would not obey Pharaoh.  The baby, placed in the sealed basket, set sail on the great river.  The waters brought the baby to Pharaoh’s daughter, who understood the mother’s cry for help and showed mercy.  Moses was saved by his two mothers. God depends on our small acts of cunning and courage.

So many trips take us to water.  The spray and roar of the waterfall envelopes us.  An icy mountain stream numbs our feet.  Crossing slippery rocks takes time to find our balance.  Sinking into a snowfield on the mountainside, we hug the tracks of those who came before us.  We hike to the source: the river leads us back to the streams that follow the trail up to the lake and finally the shining glacier where it all begins.

You are there in the footsteps of those who came before us.  You give birth in beauty and sorrow.  The ruptures of ordinary time You heal.