A Light for My Path

Folks who read my blog on a regular basis probably get tired of me talking about the river that runs by our property. It’s nothing grand. It’s not like we live on the Amazon or the Mississippi. Or the Seine (I can only dream!). It’s a little spring-fed river called the Santa Fe that meanders 75 miles from the swamps near Gainesville, Florida until it feeds into the Suwannee, which collides with the large gulf that’s bordered by half of Florida’s coastline.

There are lots of deep crystal-blue springs along its trek. The water is a refreshing 68-72 degrees year-round. You’ll spot manatees, turtles, fish, otters, and, yes, the occasional alligator. And at one point, the river disappears and travels underground for three miles before resurfacing as though nothing happened. Experienced scuba divers sometimes swim that three-mile cavern. I prefer to stay topside in a tube or kayak.

I spend more time beside the river than in or on it. The dock is perfect for catching some rays on warm days or stargazing at night. The river’s just wide enough that trees leaning out from opposite banks don’t meet in the middle. So, there’s ample open sky to watch the sunset and point out constellations and planets as nighttime creeps in.

My favorite place of all though, is the swing the previous owners hung between two trees right on the riverbank. It’s a perfect place for reading, thinking, praying, dozing. Hard conversations seem just slightly easier to have in that swing. It’s big enough that two grown-ups can sit side-by-side without touching if they want to. And you can address your thoughts, prayers, concerns, heartaches, and dreams out to the water where they are carried downstream but still heard by the person beside you. And by God. And quite often, after a while, the two people sitting there will scooch a little closer to each other. Maybe hold hands. And when they get up to walk back to the house, they feel a little better about things. Because the harsh words and hard feelings are already halfway to that nameless Gulf.

There’s nothing magical about my little river. Or the swing. For that matter, there’s nothing magical about the stars, the trees, or God. They’re all real. But somehow, they all work together to give me a peace that passes understanding. And once again it is well with my soul.

May the Lord bless you and keep you;
May the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you;
May the Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace.

Numbers 6: 24-26

Laura