I borrowed the hour from errands and to-dos to sink into a spot on the bank of the river. The river ran rough that day. I watched it roll and race by my perch, charging toward a string of rocks that peppered the span of the river.
Many times I’ve heard about the small pebble and the rings of ripples it creates when thrown into the water. I remember thinking that was good. Meaningful. But today, as I witness this stacked row of gray hold its place, ceaselessly diverting the water, the pebble’s temporary ripples pale.
Maybe it’s unfair to compare those two things. Maybe they aren’t to be set side by side.
But today, I’m drawn to this rock row’s strength and constancy. Today, I need to see what it looks like to withstand the waves, not create them. I need to see what it looks like to stand still in confusion. To stand firm in change. To stand strong in a pelting current.
As I watch, the rocks coax and lift and carve the river’s path, without fickle or teetering movement. I see that it’s the rock that stands firm that creates waves.
It’s a comfort, that rock’s continuous presence. In my own rushing; as I charge downstream; as I get carried along, gaining momentum, I need the rock. I need its diversion and pause and guidance. I need the rock that sinks deep and does not waver. I need the rock that rises above the water and interrupts the flow. I need to know the rock will be there, unchanging in its placement and purpose and promise.
I don’t need to create waves. I need the Rock.
“The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold” (Psalm 18:2).
“I have learned to kiss the waves that throw me up against the rock of ages.” Charles Spurgeon