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The river moves a mountain stone by stone, slowly widening its path, flowing over each of us, cutting into each of us, washing through the places that are hard, that would separate us from one another, from you among us and within us.
I think on these things, and the tides are multiplied. They flow over me, stronger and more potent than the tides of destruction. The debris of anger, of desperation, seeps away, little by little. A tiny stone and then another. A mountain moving. Moved by all that is right.
A quiet water, this river of grace. Its work done in ways that do not seek attention. Yet it is there. Always there.
Maybe grace was all around me, bubbling through, passing under my feet, and I’d never seen it because I’d never tried to see.
“Fear builds walls instead of bridges. I want a life of bridges, not walls.”
I desire to live my life this way, Father, as Isabelle has. Not caged by the walls of fear, but in anticipation of the bridges to magnificence.
Help them to show the world that our greatness is not in things we do for ourselves, but in things we do for others. In power that channels itself into kindness, in a hand outstretched in love.
“I don’t believe it,” I answer. “Men are always trying to solve the mysteries of God, but they never will.” She plucks a whelk shell from the sand, contemplates it, turning it over with her bone-thin fingers. “There will always be another mystery. God is infinite.”
Forgive me, Father, for asking for another day yet, and another beyond that, when this one is so very beautiful. We, in our humanness, cannot help but foolishly desire eternity in this life.
