Sitting by the river

The gorgeous sunrise light has lured me to the banks of the Susquehanna.  I had no real plan this morning for my destination, but the river beckoned.  Living in a river town, there are plenty of views, even just strolling the streets.

A short drive takes me to the edge of town. I walk across a lawn to get a close-up of these chairs, wondering if the owner would come out to shoo me away.  But he or she is probably getting ready for work, too busy to object to me spoiling the dusting of snow on their property with my footprints.

The river is a fit metaphor for the inevitability of work.  And these chairs are a good stand-in for the two-week break I’ve been on.  I’m not looking forward to launching back out into the current.  Tomorrow, I have to drive into Manhattan.  That’s the equivalent of dropping a canoe into Class 4 rapids in the middle of a flotilla.

But this morning, I am enjoying one last day of being on the shore.  As I walk, I find a trail I had forgotten that starts at a side-street.  Not far down the path, I find a hollow log.  It’s another apt visual for my break from the busyness of my regular life: a snug hiding place.

Perhaps I need to view my metaphorical waterway differently this morning.

Ezekiel 47 relates a wonderful vision of a river.  The prophet is shown a stream trickling out of the temple that grows deeper and deeper as he wades in.  His angel guide shows him the life that flourishes along the banks: it is a flow that brings abundant blessing to all that it touches.

In the middle of the passage, Ezekiel writes:

And he said to me, “Son of man, have you seen this?”

Then he led me back to the bank of the river. (Ezekiel 47:6)

That’s a verse for me, today.  For the Lord has led me here to show me something.  The trail has petered out, but I pick my way through the snow to a point of confluence of two side streams.  I stop, lost in wonder.  The color of the sky, reflected in the glassy water, is quietly breathtaking.

God is reminding me that he intends to make the work that I do – in all its grinding travel and details and stress in the moment of creating – a means by which he can bring beauty and blessing into the world.

Son of man, have you seen this?

In a lovely touch of God’s humor – or in his gracious understanding of my denseness – on my way back to the car, I find a graphic mural of the river on a fence in an alley.  On it is written a simple wish, Oh to be like the river.

Given the right view, it’s a longing I can embrace.  I want to be in God’s flow.

Father, we long to be a part of the river of blessing you are bringing to the world.  We also thank you for the time of rest we can take along its shore, from time to time.  But compel us with a vision of what you are doing in and through us so that we don’t linger long on the banks of your life-giving work.

Reader:  What excites you about the work God has given you to do?