The Waiting Walk

The December breeze was gentle and soft, relatively warm for this time of year. The water hardly even rippled as the canoe silently drifted downstream. The bald eagle sat again on a high tree, watching us float closer, preparing to soar. No human noises disturbed the peace, just distant birds and silence. The trees and sky reflected perfectly, beautifully, in the still water. And I was reflecting as well…

We moved to the farm in Missouri shortly after I turned 13. I spent nearly every summer Sabbath afternoon for the next three years floating this exact stretch of the Gasconade River, nearly always with friends. I would ride my horse down here and we’d explore, swim across it and explore the other side. Summers were spent camping out on the gravel bar and even exploring the water at night. We would drive the cows from one side to the other a couple of times a year. Even after leaving for academy, the river was always part of trips back home.

This was MY river.

The 400 acre farm (just slightly larger than the 10 acres in the country my parents had been searching for, lol) had the river running right through it. The “Farside,” as we affectionately called it, was a hay meadow, a gem of property in Missouri’s hilly, rocky landscape. The side with the houses was a hilly swath across a peninsula. The river touched our banks, went out and around our neighbor’s land, and then back around and through the middle of our land. We could literally put in on one side, float for an hour, and then get out right on our own property. We took full advantage of this and I spent more time in a canoe than on any piece of farm equipment during my teen years.

I loved it.

Now 30 plus years later, I was back home for a visit. It was our third year in a row coming home for Christmas, and Missouri winters are erratic so you never know what you’ll get. Sometimes it snows. Last December it was well below freezing the entire time. Other years it found in the 70s. This year was warmer but wet. I felt the river calling, but the weather wasn’t cooperating. Then Sabbath afternoon the gray skies stopped dripping and since it was a balmy sixty degrees, I suggested we go for a float. My cousin grabbed a kayak, my brother and I the canoe, my kids thought we were crazy to canoe in winter so stayed home, and my dad dropped us off at that same spot we’d launched from on Sabbath afternoons hundreds of times before.

We were off – a trip down memory lane.

We dodged the low branches and stumps that have been there for over 30 years. We navigated around new log jams that were fresh this year and I remembered how exciting it always was the first float every spring, the adventure to see what the river experience would be like this year! Winter floods would wash away jams and create new ones. Some years we would have to come back later with a chainsaw to make the trip downriver possible. Some years the actual path of the river would shift.

We rounded a corner that had no jam at all and my brother had to remind me that this was the place my parents nearly drown in a winter canoe trip adventure. My dad wanted to see the river after a rare snowfall, and unbelievably my mother agreed to be a good sport. The high, fast flowing current and larger jam than normal sucked their canoe against it before capsizing them and then sucking the canoe under and out of sight. Thankfully they made it out, though my mother has never been into canoeing much since. What a memory. I was probably 14 at the time.

We rounded a bend to see a flock of turkeys crossing the river. A Kingfisher rattled shrilly, and we even saw the beautiful Pileated Woodpecker. The water was low this year, so we scraped and bumped and had to use the paddles as sticks to push ourselves along at a few points, announcing our presence quite loudly for the first half of the trip.

This explains why we never got close enough to take the picture of the Bald Eagle that I was hoping for. He would fly off quickly after we would round each bend, us chasing him and soon also his mate downriver. We floated past their nest right on our property as we concluded our trip – the third nest that I know of as their former nests had succumbed to windstorms. When I was a teen, we knew their resting spots and so could often quietly drift directly under them without causing flight. It always felt sacred. I will never tire of seeing these majestic birds in their natural habitat.

I put my hand into the water as we passed the big spring. Putting out over a million gallons a day, it bubbles up from the ground and creates a small creek that flows into the river. In the summer you will definitely notice a huge temperature drop as river meets spring. It was always fun to tell the newcomers that this was the place we jumped in to swim, then listen to the squeals as we drifted into the path of the freezing spring water. My favorite summer was the year when the winter floods cleaned the spring up rather than dumping debris in, and it was a beautiful, deep blue-green pool of the coldest water around. We would drag the canoes up the little creek and then float over the spring, daring each other to jump in, and then help each other out as our breath was literally sucked away when we were submerged in 55 degree water.

The last 20 minutes of our float were on the long still stretch, the best fishing spot on the river. No current. No ripples. No water sounds. Perfectly calm and smooth as glass, we basked in the water’s reflections and stillness.

What would that 13 year old girl, who was so excited to move to the farm, to get a horse, to be a cowgirl, to explore and adventure over the hills and woods and creeks and rivers, what would she think of the 43 year old me? Did her dreams back then align with my life now? And if not, is that a good thing? Or have the good things gotten lost in this journey called life? Is it time for a course correct, or are things going in a healthy direction now? So many thoughts to think. So much to consider. To evaluate. To reflect on.

But more important than looking back is asking what life is going to look like moving forward. As we evaluate who we were and who we are, the only piece we can change is who we want to be. 

I am choosing to continue with my One-Word theme again this year. In 2022 my one word was Freedom. Last year I chose Healing; while there will always be work to do in this area, I am feeling good. Healthy. Happy. My kids are doing better than ever before. It has been a good year.

So what is next?

Leadership. That will be my One-Word theme for 2024. With my personal life feeling healthy and stable, I was excited to make the switch from teacher to full-time administrator. It is a switch that I am loving. So this year, I will be focusing on developing my professional life, digging in so that my work and ministry in this place is truly effective for Jesus.

Leadership.

Leading like Jesus. 

Leading towards Jesus. 

Leading with Jesus. 

I am so excited to see what the future holds!

Happy 2024!