Peace like a river

Our first-ring suburb is strung along the mighty Mississippi River.  At one time, the busy stockyards along its banks were among the largest in the world - a source of both great pride and prosperity (and odor). Though the stockyards are now (mostly) closed, other
businesses and a busy

recreational trail have
cropped up in recent years.

Although I do have an unusual fondness for the smell of manure, I'm drawn to the river for its watery connection to people and memories in both directions. We once took the kids on a much-treasured vacation to Lake Itasca where the river begins its journey. Sarah took the word "headwaters" literally, dipping her head repeatedly into the cold, shallow water.

I grew up on a farm near the Mississippi farther south in eastern Iowa. A long, narrow toll bridge spanned the river between us and the closest Pizza Hut -- the open grate that kept the dead shadflies from piling up on the bridge offered a freaky view of the water far below. Even now, I believe I could fashion a sturdy (enough) raft out of driftwood and spend a lazy day drifting away from my life's demands downstream to Dubuque or Bellevue or Sabula where life flows at a slower pace. 

As a child I explored the river's banks -- collecting rocks while my brother took his turn at piano lessons from Mrs. Sorg whose house was on River Street in Sabula. Although I wasn't picky, my favorite stones were the layered agates - so beautiful under the water, so dull and boring when they dried out in my pocket. 

One year, Santa brought me the coveted rock polisher I needed to transform my pile of drab river stones into gleaming treasures. The rock polisher came with mysterious packets of grit, jewelry findings and extensive instructions. I imagined myself wearing a stunning polished stone pendant and matching ring, the envy of my friends. Excited and determined, I added my rocks, water and grit to the tumbler and plugged it in. Not realizing that the process of polishing rocks can take many weeks, I checked my stones approximately every 5 minutes and quickly became discouraged - abandoning the polisher to the basement where it was eventually thrown away without producing a single polished stone.

Sometimes I expect needed transformation in myself and others, in our faith community and in our world to happen quickly - and sometimes it does. But often it happens over time, like a river that carves out its winding path or like a stone that is carefully chosen and lovingly polished. When I become fearful, discouraged and impatient with the world and the people in it (myself included), I head to the river to pray. Remember how beautiful and vibrant those agates are when they are immersed in the water -- and how lifeless they become when stuffed into my pocket? Watching the river flow, I remember the promises shared in the waters of baptism - God's persistent, wildly generous, enduring, unbroken, foolish love for us and the responsibility God shares with us to create a world that is more generous, more loving, more just, more peaceful, more beautiful, less isolated and more connected.  Stay close to the water.

Where does God find you when you are discouraged, impatient, isolated?