I've Got a River of Life

When Daniel and I got married, we traveled to a remote cabin in Canada’s Yukon Territory for our honeymoon. We wanted to see the Northern Lights. The trip did not disappoint; we got an impressive front row seat to the aurora borealis at 1 o’clock in the morning from a hot tub on a private property in the middle of nowhere. People dream of these opportunities.

On one of our days there, we decided to go on a short hike in search of a river mentioned on the cabin rental website. Since it was still winter, we suited up in boots and thermal socks and began the excursion, eagerly anticipating the sights we would see along the way. Maybe we’d catch sight of a cougar or a moose stopping for a drink at the river. Maybe we’d see an arctic fox. The possibilities were endless.

Our excitement soon turned to mild frustration as, an hour and a half into the trip, we had still not located the river. We decided to take a detour, assuming we had gone off course somewhere. The rest was a comedy of errors, including our accidental trespass on the property of an old codger with about 15 clearly marked “stay off property” signs and a jaunt through thigh high snow, where each step felt like a plyometric exercise routine reminiscent of my college basketball days.

I started to get cranky and tired and sweaty and cold, and I felt my responses to Daniel becoming increasingly curt. We found a large clearing and decided to rest on a nearby log. We sat for a moment, appreciating the sun as it beat on our backs. And it was then that it finally dawned on us: we weren’t as lost as we thought we were. The river was with us all along; it had just frozen over for the winter, and it was covered in snow. We were actually sitting right on top of it. We had a pretty good laugh when we finally figured it out.

I feel like this is a relevant analogy for life. Sometimes we can be tempted to believe we are lost when, in fact, we are exactly where we belong. It’s just that the terrain looks different than we expect it to. It’s our expectations that need adjustment, not our roadmaps.

I have a lot of residual guilt tendencies left over from my Presbyterian childhood. The lowly worm theology I keep trying to kill continues to find a way to rear its ugly head and remind me of everything I “should” be doing at my stage in life. I should be better at all things domestic. I should be more disciplined about leading my kids in Bible study. I should be praying with them more often. I should be exercising regularly. I should be able to afford a better house. I should be meal planning and freezing a month in advance. And on and on and on and on it goes ad infinitum, killing all joy and contentedness in today’s blessings and replacing it with worry and the false belief that I can finally be happy when…

I notice my daughter doing this a lot, too—substituting excitement or adrenaline rushes for joy. “I’ll be happy when” is a deadly trap. All this energy and anticipation gets wrapped up in looking forward to the next special event or holiday or shopping trip, and there’s a severe letdown when it’s over. I recognize it in her because I fight it in myself, and it’s an ongoing struggle. When Paul says, “I have learned to be content in all circumstances,” I personally realize that this is no small feat. It’s way too easy to get caught up in chasing a feeling or a dopamine rush when what we really need is already right in front of us.

I’ve been working with my daughter on this. I ask her questions like, “How can you be happy here and now and in this space? What can you do with what you have already that will create beauty and joy? Of course, it’s all really one big self preach. What I’m really doing is reminding myself that I’m in this house in this neighborhood with these friends and this body and these struggles for a reason. There is work to be done here. I don’t need to go wandering around Timbuktu or the Yukon in search of a river when God has already promised that there’s a river of life flowing out of me that can open prison doors and set captives free.

Each day is a new opportunity to reach heavenward and say, “Okay, Father. What have you got for me to do today? I know it’s going to be good.”

He doesn’t disappoint.