I
remember what it was like to visit Niagara Falls for the first time
with my parents and my sister, Jenny, when I was a teenager. Feeling a
quiet thrill as we stood and watched that powerful force of nature in
action, I heard the roar of millions and millions of gallons of water
tumbling over the cliff and was immersed in the drenching moisture that
rushed into the air and joined the suspended perpetual energized
dampness hovering above the river.
If you haven't ever been to Niagara Falls, it's worth the trip.
What
was surprising to me, though, was something that happened last
November. My two-year-old grandson, Jude, knew a waterfall when he saw
the photo above, even though it was behind all the icons on my desk
top. (I was using it as my desktop wallpaper.)
As much as I was surprised that Jude knew the photo was of a waterfall, I was also delighted.
Little
kids learn things at an amazing rates. And what they pick up, and how
they interact with what they learn can be so amazing to witness.
What a joy see how each child's personality develops!
I loved watching my little cousins grow up even when I was a child. They lived a few houses down on our block on the far south side of Chicago.
Also, from when I was ten years old through most of my teen years, I watched the our neighbors' three sons grow up. The oldest was two when they moved next door to us and his younger brother was on the way to be born. Two years later they welcomed their youngest brother. How lovely to discover that each boy's personality was very unique from their earliest days on earth.
And while I was carrying my children before they were born, it seemed that my both my daughter and my son were individuals in distinct ways even from the time they were in the womb.
How interesting it was day by day to see how quickly my children learned and developed! Between the ages of about eight months old and three years old, they each learned so much. Their interactions with everyone they encountered revealed their budding personalities.
I loved watching my little cousins grow up even when I was a child. They lived a few houses down on our block on the far south side of Chicago.
Also, from when I was ten years old through most of my teen years, I watched the our neighbors' three sons grow up. The oldest was two when they moved next door to us and his younger brother was on the way to be born. Two years later they welcomed their youngest brother. How lovely to discover that each boy's personality was very unique from their earliest days on earth.
And while I was carrying my children before they were born, it seemed that my both my daughter and my son were individuals in distinct ways even from the time they were in the womb.
How interesting it was day by day to see how quickly my children learned and developed! Between the ages of about eight months old and three years old, they each learned so much. Their interactions with everyone they encountered revealed their budding personalities.
And
in the past fifteen years I have been blessed to watch my grandchildren
grow up, too. There are more and more blessings to be thankful for as
time flows by me.
Nevertheless,
the older I get the faster time seems to rush by me. Lately it seems
like the time allotted to me is slipping away as quickly as the water
that rushes over the cliffs on the Niagara River.
That
reminds me of the saying that you can never step into the same river
twice. The first time I heard that, I had an immediate negative
reaction to the idea. I mean look at a map. All the rivers are clearly
marked. Why would anyone say such a thing?
However, over the years I came to understand the concept better. And I think within the idea is a metaphor that can describe the flow of our lives, too.
Please let me explain that by describing some memories I have.
As I have told you before, and as you may know because you grew up with me, I grew up in Chicago until I was eight years old. After that, until I left for university, I lived out in the country in Lake County that's set in Illinois' northeast corner.
There are beautiful rivers that crisscross Illinois. Some of my earliest memories and dreams are infused with the sound of channel bells and fog horns because we lived close to a big bend of the hard-working Little Calumet River. Strings of barges of coal were pulled up it from the Port of Chicago on Lake Michigan to be used to stoke the fires of a big steel mill across the river. That was my home knowledge of a river. We encountered others in our day to day lives.
Often when our family went to downtown Chicago we crossed the Chicago River by foot or in the car. That's the river that Chicagoans are pleased to turn a very strange and bright shade of green on St. Patrick's Day. Instead of flowing into Lake Michigan as is did from time immemorial, the river's direction was reversed in 1900.
Clever engineers designed and had built a system of locks so that the pollution from industries along the river would not flow into Lake Michigan, the source for fresh water not only for Chicago, but for all of the cities and towns on that majestic interior sea.
The first permanent settlement of Europeans in the area was Fort Dearborn, at the confluence of the Chicago River and Lake Michigan.
There are brass lines set into the sidewalk on North Michigan Avenue as you approach the towers of the bridge near the Wrigley Building. The lines mark the perimeter log walls of the fort. Even when we were very small children, our father always pointed them out and proudly told my brother, my sister and me the history of our city.
But I couldn't very well imagine how a wooden fort had looked when it existed there. Later, when I was a school child, our teachers took us on field trips to the Chicago Historical Society Museum, and my imagination was aided by the wonderful dioramas depicting each significant era or event such as the Great Chicago Fire of 1871.
When we moved forty-five miles northwest of Chicago to Lake County, the main rivers we knew were the Fox and the Des Plaines that both, which with their tributaries flow south into the Illinois River.
In that land of gently rolling hills and lakes in the northeast corner of the state, even the water of the little spring-fed lake we lived on at times overflowed the dam, or was allowed to escape. The water wended its way through marshy fields, and eventually flowed into the Fox River about three or four miles away.
We came to love living on a lake and those of you who know what it is like to watch the changes light, wind, rain and other forces of nature make on water understand.
Watching rivers flow by is another kind of gentle joy.
However, over the years I came to understand the concept better. And I think within the idea is a metaphor that can describe the flow of our lives, too.
Please let me explain that by describing some memories I have.
As I have told you before, and as you may know because you grew up with me, I grew up in Chicago until I was eight years old. After that, until I left for university, I lived out in the country in Lake County that's set in Illinois' northeast corner.
There are beautiful rivers that crisscross Illinois. Some of my earliest memories and dreams are infused with the sound of channel bells and fog horns because we lived close to a big bend of the hard-working Little Calumet River. Strings of barges of coal were pulled up it from the Port of Chicago on Lake Michigan to be used to stoke the fires of a big steel mill across the river. That was my home knowledge of a river. We encountered others in our day to day lives.
Often when our family went to downtown Chicago we crossed the Chicago River by foot or in the car. That's the river that Chicagoans are pleased to turn a very strange and bright shade of green on St. Patrick's Day. Instead of flowing into Lake Michigan as is did from time immemorial, the river's direction was reversed in 1900.
Clever engineers designed and had built a system of locks so that the pollution from industries along the river would not flow into Lake Michigan, the source for fresh water not only for Chicago, but for all of the cities and towns on that majestic interior sea.
The first permanent settlement of Europeans in the area was Fort Dearborn, at the confluence of the Chicago River and Lake Michigan.
There are brass lines set into the sidewalk on North Michigan Avenue as you approach the towers of the bridge near the Wrigley Building. The lines mark the perimeter log walls of the fort. Even when we were very small children, our father always pointed them out and proudly told my brother, my sister and me the history of our city.
But I couldn't very well imagine how a wooden fort had looked when it existed there. Later, when I was a school child, our teachers took us on field trips to the Chicago Historical Society Museum, and my imagination was aided by the wonderful dioramas depicting each significant era or event such as the Great Chicago Fire of 1871.
When we moved forty-five miles northwest of Chicago to Lake County, the main rivers we knew were the Fox and the Des Plaines that both, which with their tributaries flow south into the Illinois River.
In that land of gently rolling hills and lakes in the northeast corner of the state, even the water of the little spring-fed lake we lived on at times overflowed the dam, or was allowed to escape. The water wended its way through marshy fields, and eventually flowed into the Fox River about three or four miles away.
We came to love living on a lake and those of you who know what it is like to watch the changes light, wind, rain and other forces of nature make on water understand.
Watching rivers flow by is another kind of gentle joy.
But
I must get back to that idea that you can never step into the same
river twice. Here's another set of river memories to help us along the
stream:
The first time I saw the Mississippi was when we crossed the Big Muddy not far from Galena, Illinois to visit Dubuque, Iowa. On one of our family's lovely day trips we just headed straight west one fine spring Saturday morning. Our Dad is a Civil War buff and one goal of the day was to visit the home of General Ulysses S. Grant in Galena. That was interesting, but seeing the Mississippi for the first time was fascinating.
The first time I saw the Mississippi was when we crossed the Big Muddy not far from Galena, Illinois to visit Dubuque, Iowa. On one of our family's lovely day trips we just headed straight west one fine spring Saturday morning. Our Dad is a Civil War buff and one goal of the day was to visit the home of General Ulysses S. Grant in Galena. That was interesting, but seeing the Mississippi for the first time was fascinating.
Because
I saw the wide expanse of roiling turbulence for the first time in the
spring, though, and because I still had the ideas that rivers always
pretty much looked the same, I was fooled into thinking that the
Mississippi always looked full and gorged with fast-moving water.
I was wrong.
I was wrong.
Over
the years I crossed the Mississippi on highway and railroad bridges up
and down the area along the borders of Illinois and Missouri; of
Illinois and Iowa; and of Minnesota and Wisconsin.
I
have seen the Father of All Waters' muddy basin exposed with only
trickles of rivulets making their way south. At those times, there were
river boats, row boats and speedboats sitting askew on the bare
waterless edges. Piers looked ridiculous suspended high above the
muddiness in mid-air. There were other times, too.
Twice
on trains I traversed the truly mighty waters at flood stage. In 1993
after the "Hundred Years Flood," the railroad bridge at Burlington, Iowa
had only been re-opened for a few days when the train made its way
east. Even though the river was obediently returning to the confines of
the banks and levees marking calmer times, the waters still roiled and
swelled. They seemed still sassy and unruly having greedily soaked up
and demolished so many houses and towns, so much farm land.
So, yeah . . . in one way I don't think you can step into the same river twice.
And
that becomes a metaphor for the flow of our lives, maybe, when you
realize that there are times when the emotions from experiences and
relationships overwhelm us. There also may be times of isolation and
emotional famine when our life force is stunted or blocked.
When have you felt the fullness of joy, well-earned pride, loving feelings of encounters with family and friends?
When have you felt the fullness of joy, well-earned pride, loving feelings of encounters with family and friends?
What do you do when you feel blocked . . . barren, uncreative, fruitless?
What is the source of the flow of energy of your life and spirit?
When
he met the woman of Sychar at the Samaritan well, Jesus told her that
springs of living water would flow inside her. On one level He was
telling her that her body would be able to sustain life in the future
even though she had been barren and had been set aside by many husbands
because she had not given them children
But
he was also telling her that if she asked, He would give her the
essence of true life, the sustenance of the Holy Spirit, symbolized by
living water. Nurtured by this life-giving spiritual essential, she
would have a new kind of life. Living would be more than just
existence. Her time on earth would be filled with vibrant, exciting,
energizing vivacity. That new abundant life would be the beginning of
life-forever in the fullness of love.
The
woman not only believed Jesus, she ran to tell everyone she knew. They
invited the Lord to be with them, and received his offer of living
water, too.
There
is much more to the story, of course. But this is what I am
wondering: Have you taken Jesus up on that offer to receive living
water and the fullness of a life lived in the energy and sustenance of
love?
Do you know what it is like to live in relationship with joy?
If not, will you invite Jesus to join you and talk to Him about his offer? Will you listen and entertain the idea?
Please do.
"Jesus
said to her, 'Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again,
but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be
thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of
water gushing up to eternal life.' The woman said to him, 'Sir, give me
this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here
to draw water.'" [John 4:13-15 (NRSV)]
I'm hoping you have a joy-filled day.
As ever, in Christ -- Kathy
P.S. If you are interested in seeing more about some of the places I mentioned, you can try these websites:
Reversing the Chicago River
www.lib.niu.edu/2001/ihy010452.html
Chicago History
The Chicago Historical Society
http://chicagohistory.org/
Maps Of Illinois Rivers
A Mississippi River Map
The Source for the Scripture Reference
http://bible.oremus.org/
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
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