The water in the creek was flowing slowly. In the early morning light, it seemed dark, almost rusty. I watched for a moment, appreciating the steadiness of the flow, the flush of life-giving water that runs continuously through this space––arriving unbidden as a blessing from unknown reaches and continuing on to touch places and lives beyond my sight and awareness.
And then I remembered other forms of the creek I have observed here. During the spring thaw, it runs high and and fast, frothy white as as it makes its way over and around rocks and roots. After many summer days without rain, it is a slow, meandering trickle, thin and spare.
The creekbed stands ready to receive the flow, however sparse or intense. I am struck by this generous receptivity––the capacity to receive and release whatever arrives.
In this moment, when summer’s abundance stands right alongside humanity’s utter brokenness, I recognize that there is something to learn from the creekbed. It is a vital aspect of the forest, offering steady, reliable presence and capacity to the ever shifting flow of energy and water.
I aspire to offer that kind of generous holding to my family and community. Some days I am better at it than others. From now on, I will be leaning into the creekbed’s example.
I will empty myself enough to allow generous receptivity to grow.
I will give myself fully to receiving and releasing both the trickle and the flood.
I will find stability in the bedrock beneath me and in the wisdom of creation that surrounds and flows through me.