Repentance

You'll forgive some morning thoughts of a non-bloggy nature? If not, check back with me tomorrow. This is important for me to articulate, and I don't mind storing it here.

There's a fountain, a fountain of living waters. It's the love of God, love and goodness. It's the source of life and blessings. Each one of us is a channel for that water; it flows through us to different places, taking trickles or streams out to wash over and feed our own little areas of the world. What we carry has no rigid boundaries; it seeps, it soaks, it saturates, it goes where it's called for. Sometimes a stone, a tree trunk, something with hard edges, a blockage, falls into the center of us, or small intrusions slowly collect, and these interrupt the strength of the flow, sometimes cutting it off almost entirely. The clean water that wants to move through us swirls back on itself, stands still, maybe even stagnates. The places that lie in the path of the waters we send out suffer--perhaps someone whose life we touch (or many someones), our habits, our work, our advancement, our joy. Without a regular flow, a drought comes, and it can devastate. Gratefully, the nature of water is that it permeates everything. It exists in the atmosphere. It falls from the sky. It's deep in the ground where roots reach. It's always trying to find the places that are thirsty. That said, when a main source is cut off, life is threatened. There are Hands continually working to fish out the stones, to pull out the fallen logs, and to remove the collected debris that interrupt the water's movement. There's an ideal channel that wishes to course through each of us, and the working Hands are always trying to free up the beds and clear the banks, so we can be part of the movement and sound of the circulation of life. Once the obstructions are pulled out and the water is free again to flow its course through us, do stinging reminders come about the shame of stones? No, there is only rejoicing that the stream is free, and the vigilance of the Hands to see that the beautiful waters keep moving and reaching. There is joy in the music and purpose of the flux. There is only giving. All is attention on the journey of the water, and the nourishment of what lies in its path.