From my 2009 Journal. While Scott and I were visiting his family in Vancouver, BC, I picked up a novel from his aunt’s bookshelf. Published in 1931, A White Bird Flying, is full of life’s lessons and philosophy and old-fashioned values—a gentle reminder of days gone by in rural Nebraska. Laura, a would-be writer, chooses love and a family over career and a promised inheritance. When her would-be benefactor dies, he sends her the grand sum of one dollar in retaliation for spurning him.
The author, Bess Streeter Aldrich, concludes:
Life is like a river—a groping, pulsing river, endlessly rising and falling, finding its way through mists and shadows to some far sea. Every human is a part of the story. One life touches another and is gone. There is contact for a brief time—an influence for good or ill. And the river goes on, endlessly rising and falling, finding its way to the sea (p. 123).
For years, I simply drifted in the water, going along with what others wanted for my life rather than following my heart. A lot of the decisions I made were because I didn’t really know what I wanted. And even if I did, I got easily thwarted or side-tracked by the scenery around me or the rocks in the riverbed. I could make goals, but if people or events interrupted the flow, I’d give up on my dreams and let them paddle the boat for me.
So when does an interruption become a distraction and when is it actually a God-event? How can you tell the difference? Is the interruption like a bumper lane in a bowling alley? The rubber is there to keep you out of the gutter. Or is the interruption like a pile of sticks in the river that you want to avoid because it’s a snare or a trap?
I think the rapids are the events over which you have no control, and you have to be on your guard, alert to navigate well to stay upright. Thankfully, not all of life is calm and not all is rapids. Variety is nice. So is it okay to drift? Sometimes. Those are the resting times. But it’s not okay when the water is rough. And that’s when I’m glad I have an experienced Guide with me Who knows the river and knows where the hazards are. And He’s strong enough to keep us on an even keel. But God expects me to engage in the fight to stay upright. I need to use my paddle as I’m able.
Sometimes, when you’re about to be dumped into the river, you just hang onto the sides for dear life. But you’re not going to drown (unless it’s your time to go Home) because Jesus has the lifeline in His hands. When He comes to rescue you, relax, don’t struggle against Him.
But back to the author’s metaphor. “Life is like a river. Every human is a part of the story. One life touches another and is gone.” What does that look like in the picture? Are we flotsam and jetsam? Tree debris? Turtles swimming downstream? Canoes that bump against each other? What do you think?
What other applications can you see in this metaphor?
This is good, as usual. I think our personalities, and our training, have a lot to do with how we navigate the river. I’m one who firmly believes you make your own luck. It’s hard to fight those who want to steer your boat for you, but it’s hard for them to steer your boat when they have to steer their own, too. So, that gives me a chance to take my own path through the waters. Sometimes it’s hard to tell our family and friends, “No, this is where I need to be,” or “You’re not the boss of me.” but I’ve learned that the world won’t end because I make a choice they don’t approve. I’ve also learned that the rapids might not be rapids, but just churned up water from someone else trying to make choices for me. I’m in much calmer waters if we all let each other live and breathe as we ought to.
Hope that makes sense.
Oh, I like that! Good thoughts. Stay in your own boat please! And I hadn’t thought about the churning waters belonging to someone else who might be paddling furiously next to me because of their perceived danger.