Troubled Waters

From the road, it looked like a scene suitable for a postcard, a pond surrounded by hills and trees. I’m sure the psalmist had such a place in mind when writing about being led to still waters, but when I got out of the car and looked closer, I saw something important. Floating on the top of the pond were lily pads. In other places, algae were mixed with the water. Such things were possible because the water was still. As inviting as the placid water is sometimes, it needs to move if it is to remain healthy.

I thought about the pond and the vegetation growing in it as I drove away. It reminded me how often I have longed for my life to be a still, serene, placid pond, the kind worthy of a postcard. If I pay off all my debt, make these calls, resolve this matter, everything will be perfect, and I can sit back and enjoy life, enjoy peace a quiet. In other words, I long for still waters, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s just dangerous.

Like the pond, I need to keep the water moving. I need to keep bringing new water in and allowing old to flow elsewhere. To do so demands effort and a willingness to live with churned up water, but it’s better than allowing algae to grow.

There’s a wonderful spiritual that speaks of God troubling the waters. I used to think that was a bad thing. How can the God who leads us to still waters be the same who troubles the water? Now I know that troubling the waters is how God keeps the waters fresh, and me healthy. Remembering the pond and the importance of keeping the water flowing, I find it easier to accept challenges and uncomfortable tasks or conversations as the price for healthy water.

I don’t necessarily like it, but I know I need it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_euSS86dvE

Yet

It’s a small word, but one with enormous power. Like so many, this small word can go unnoticed or ignored. That is, until someone uses it, and you think about things in a new way. That happened to me, recently, and now I want to make sure it becomes a regular part of my vocabulary. More important, I want it to become a regular part of my thinking.

Like many, I have fallen short of what I hoped to do and who I hoped to be. I’ve always bemoaned such shortcomings. Now, as life’s horizon draws closer, my regrets have increased. Fortunately, a friend showed me how to add a word of grace to my thoughts. Look how it changes the thoughts below:

I haven’t made much of a difference in the world, yet.

I haven’t found my purpose, yet.

I’m not a good (Fill in the blank), yet.

I don’t do enough for the poor or struggling, yet.

I don’t read, pray, or sit still regularly, yet.

I don’t give generously, yet.

I don’t exercise enough, yet.

I haven’t achieved what I hoped at work, yet.

I am not the kind of (mother/father/son/daughter/friend) I want to be, yet.

I’m not a very good follower of God’s will, yet.

One word transforms these sentences into declarations of faith. Now, each contains a deep-seeded hope, a reminder that our journey is not over. Our story is not written, it’s being written, and it’s all because of one little word.

I think I’ll try to use it more often.

Pentecost 2022: Running Toward the Flames

I remember the first time I heard it: Our greatest fear is not the God does not exits; what scares us most, is that God does. At the time, I thought it was a clever twist, but now, particularly on the day of Pentecost, I can see that it is not only clever, but true.

As I sat in church this morning, listening to the story of the disciples huddled together, waiting, and suddenly experiencing God’s presence in a new way, like flames or a chorus of unrecognizable voices, I thought it must have been so strange, even frightening. Onlookers thought the early followers were drunk. So it is when God shows up. So it is when people choose to follow.

A man I know was walking through a door from one thing to another, a life transition like so many others he’d been through. To help him navigate the uncertainty, he bought a journal and a pen and began writing his way to the other side. Through his writing, he felt a voice was calling him to “walk beside others who were trying to live authentic lives.” Unsure what that meant or looked like, he carried on, open to whatever that voice continued to say. He attended his morning 12-step recovery group that was struggling for participation. COVID and Zoom meetings had done a number on his group. In a spontaneous moment, he offered to show up and lead the meeting every morning for the next three months to see if people would return to in-person meetings. Much to his amazement, the next morning every seat in the room was filled. It was exciting and scary at the same time. He wanted to lift his hands in celebration, but someone might think he was drunk.

Flames can be frightening in whatever form they come. God’s presence and actions can be so startling one wants to run in the opposite direction – back to the predictable world he or she has known. But today, of all days, we are told to run toward the flames, embrace the unpredictability, the strange voices, and the cup filled with new wine.

It will not be a world, or a life, like any we have known, but maybe that’s the point.