Creeks end

man writing on paper

I am restless on this chilled fresh morning. Each attempt to settle and focus finds one more distraction claiming my attention. Thoughts are scattered. I’m fidgety. I aim to tidy things before walking to church. Maybe I’m searching for an excuse to avoid thinking about life’s recent dilemmas.

My antidote is to take pen to hand and begin writing. Staring at me is a milk complected page. The words don’t flow at first. Alone, and blank, this page is dead. If I start writing, it might come to life. Reaching inward, I ink words in my mind forcing time and restlessness to recede. Not knowing how the words will come or where the sentence will take me, I begin to write.

My mind wanders to my walk last Monday. On my trek that day, along the creek, I discovered a fine birch branch answering my need for a good walking stick. This one was long enough to cut in half for a his and her pair.

The creek captures my attention. It has cut its run from the earth, structured and defined in its irregularity, sure of its course. I, less so. There is evidence the creek has escaped its bank. Debris reveals a recent flash flood. The grass, leaning downstream, shows me its width and height at flood time. But now, all is calm.

I listen. Between the bends and turns, nature is percussing time and melody over her rocks. I become intrigued. Where does this creek begin? Where does it end? Mesmerizing me, passing and wrinkled freshets channel the terrain, signifying the creek’s determination.

Time re-enters my thoughts. For now, I am settled. My rush of restlessness has receded. Sensing my wordless prayer, it seems God has not left me untouched. My worries leave. Thoughts flow and I dash a few sentences onto that muted page. Their imperfection will suffice for now. I’ll attend to them later when today releases me.

I imagine no constraints on my creek. It ruts its run but will also flood at times. My thoughts run much the same. Most days are ordinary. Routinely, they come and glide downstream, passing and searching their end. And by some mystery, at times more determined and fearful thoughts flood around me, rising from some unknown beginning.

But wisdom is refreshed by experience. When I was younger, those fears persisted. In this bend of life, I allow myself God’s perspective which has become a fine, steady walking stick for such moments. Leaning on Him these days, and sometimes into Him, seems unwrinkled compared to those youthful years. It occurs to me my faith has moved downstream from where I started. Somehow God formed his run in me, carrying me toward His end. I believe He aims to finish.

“But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40:31, NKJV).




Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *