Streams of Mercy - Quiet Waters
Day 1: Speak Lord in Thy stillness
He leads me beside quiet waters (Psalm 23:2).
Our preference was easily the “Big River." Big, was, of course relative—the Colonarie River is only five miles (eight kilometers) long from source to sea, and the portion running through our village was a fraction of that. But it was an integral part of all that sustained our small community.
The River was a sort of weekend hub for the village—switching rigor and recreation in seamless, boundless energy. On Saturdays it hosted community wash day, when women converged on the waters—white enamel "basins" piled high with mountain pants and sweat-stained shirts, brown-and-yellow school uniforms, "church clothes," and stained bedding. And on Sundays, scores of people headed for Roseau, or Tully, one of the two deep-holes (swimming holes) that offered relief from the sweltering heat.
Sometimes on Saturdays we were allowed to go—either from early in the morning with our aunt, or later in the afternoon to take her lunch during her short break from the piles of laundry. We splashed in the shallow water—chasing the silvery fish that darted with mocking speed among the river stones—catching nothing but guilty snatches of village gossip rising above the harsh rubbing of carbolic soap and the curious squeaking of suds.
But on Sundays, we rarely went to the Big River. Our parents—in particular our mother—were concerned about the raucous behavior, the profanity, and the general unrestrained environment at the two deep-holes. So even with the adult supervision of our aunt, our Sunday visits to the river were few and far between.
Instead, we had to make do with "Gutter," a small stream a fifteen minute trek away, through the farmlands beyond our house. In our view, "Gutter" was a better alternative to no swimming at all (more correctly splashing as we did not know how to swim), but we longed for the Big River flowing with community energy and exuberance and excitement.
Looking back, I realize that the actual river was not the only "Big River experience" where our mother intervened with shielding love and wisdom. I think of my bitter complaints when I had to "make-do" with other incidences of "Gutter," not recognizing the streams of mercy and the havens of safety in the quiet waters far from the noise of the "Big River."
I am struck by how, in many respects the pull towards the Big River continues through life. More and more, in every walk of life the Big River beckons, coursing through our human collective with energy, and exuberance and excitement.
It isn't as though Big River experiences are devoid of usefulness or value, or benefit, but it is often in the quiet streams of mercy that we find safety, and joy, and true meaning, and fulfillment. And our loving Heavenly Father, in matchless wisdom, often redirects us to the peace and safety of quiet waters, to the spiritual shelter of tranquil "Gutter."
