I live on a hill. During thunderstorms, water flows downhill taking my gravel driveway, stone by stone, with it. The powerful rush of water carves deep gullies. Recently, my husband attempted to force the water away from the driveway with a wall of rocks. He hoped to divert the water from the driveway into a ditch.
Forcing water to change direction is like corralling cats. It’s impossible. My father, a fireman, battled Hurricane Agnes’ waters in 1972. I recall his wise words: “You can fight fire, but you can’t fight water. It goes where it wants to.” Those affected by the recent hurricanes understand this hard truth.
Water does what God designed it to do; it flows. Some days, my relationship with God functions how it was designed; it flows. On those days, I sit beside my best friend watching the sunset knowing my best friend created the sunset. Natural. Peaceful. Fully at ease. I talk; He listens. He talks; I listen. Back and forth. Give and take.
But on other days, frustration sets in from trying to corral cats. When I force my relationship with God, I respond and react with have to vs. want to. Forced time with God resembles a long distance relationship gone cold. But God didn’t move; I did. I stacked rocks and built a wall. I diverted His grace and mercy into rules and requirements.
Today, my husband invited me to explore a local waterfall. On this beautiful September afternoon, we walked the trail beside Mill Creek. I heard the flowing water before I saw it. It sounded natural and peaceful. The water flowed; doing what God created it to do.
Nothing forced, just flowing.
And there were no cats in sight.