Clear Running Creeks
It's flooding here.
It's flooding in Ohio and Virginia. On Friday, I swapped pictures of building leaks with friends. We speculated what will happen when departments empty out for the weekend. I haven't checked my email. Perhaps there are updates. Warnings.
As I drive to and from church, I follow the twists of a creek. The water, normally a placid, clear stream, rages a muddy brown and spills under the yards of my unfortunate neighbors who chose low-lying land.
It frightens me. I wonder how we'll deal with climate shifts when we can't even handle normal rains after melting snow.
And yet, I also find it mystical.
I can't express the power of driving along the same creek, two hours apart, and seeing different water roiling in similar patterns.
It keeps coming.
The water doesn't stop.
And it reminds me of when I would sit beside a creek in college and felt I saw of god. The creek, for the most part, was peaceful and clear. It was calm. It flowed gentle and strong. It was calm, but I was not. I would sit by it to find peace, when I hung on to my life by fraying threads. Not when I needed to cry, but when I needed to experience something ineffable to keep me alive.
The water made me think of god.
Everything it touched, it changed. Maybe only a little. Maybe slowly, over years. It wore stones smooth. It had carved the bank on which I sat. I could put my hand in it for 5 minutes touch water which had come from who knows where and went who knows where.
It was hard to see the water, but everything you saw through the water was changed. There was something between you and it and, mostly, that made it look strange, different, beautiful.
And though I understood water cycles (and perhaps because I understood them...) I marveled that every time I walked down to it, it was still there and still flowing. I would come down a day later or a week later and it was still flowing. If I went there now, it would still be flowing and I would stand in wonder.
Even now, when I think of god, I think of that clear running college creek. I could come and go and it would still be there. I could ignore it for weeks and it would still be there. It shaped everything it touched, including me.
I don't know what to do with the water when it isn't clear, like today, when it threatens homes and people, when it destroys cities. I can't tie this into some answer or parallel about god. All I can do is wonder again that it keeps on coming. And in a few days? The creek will run clear again.