The shallow river flows over rocks, the rushing waters sounding like endless indistinguishable whispers. Words you know are in those whispers, but you cannot hear so you lean in closer, hoping they will get clearer. And then you will know the secret.
The secret to the question you have been asking yet, with no clear answer, you deduct that there is no answer except maybe in a secret that has not yet been told. Or at least not been told to you.
Maybe the rocks know the answer.
So you lean in on your knees and let a hand hover over the cool, rushing water searching for the right rock, the one that might have the answer. And the one that you feel is the perfect size, weight and shape for your hand.
Your eyes scan the surface. Multiple shades of grey, patterns of black spectacles and spider veins cover each rock, painted by endless touching waters, smooth and shined.
Your eyes glance down to where you kneel to the rough, dry and dull rocks on the bank, barely touching the water or not at all. They lay alone, or in clusters on dry land even though the rushing, refreshing water will penetrate and beautify their tiresome facade.
You pick up one of those petite, dry rocks, nudging it away from the cluster of others that has kept it stuck. You toss it gently, and watch it land deep into the clear waters, anchoring itself to river sand dusted with tiger striped pebbles.
Journeyed now to a new place, deeper and more refreshing than before.
Wretched from a cluster that had kept it dry.
And already you see, only in seconds, its surface gleaming. Washed clean by the water.
You lean back, stretch out your legs before you, allowing your bare calves and water-proof hikers sink into the shallow surface of the water. Slowly you wriggle yourself, bending your knees, straightening them again, like you did as an eager child scooting yourself off the beach and into lake waters.
And then you feel the water dampen your shorts, and you let it soak in, your body a shiver for a moment, shocked but not shaken.
You lift up your face to the sky, closing your eyes to the brightness of the sun yet feeling its ever glowing presence.
And the living river waters press into and over you with timeless rocks etched and shined by its waters.
Maybe there is no secret answer.
Maybe the rocks do know the answer.
Maybe it is time to untangle from the clusters where your discontented answers are only copies of what you are twisted in. TWEET THIS
And be interlaced into the Living Waters.
But those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fresh, bubbling spring within them, giving them eternal life. John 4:14
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