It’s hard to imagine how you came to be on that raft in a river meandering at full pace with the slip of the stream. There was no time to think about it then. The current was swirling. It tugged you, it pushed you and all you could do was go with it.
You floated down that river at the mercy of its trajectory. Life passed by. Sometimes you lay low, dodging the wild overgrowth that hung from ravenous trees and snagged in your hair. Then when the river was flat and the tide slowed, you pulled your feet up for a while, out of the icy water. You cradled your knees to your chest. You sighed. Every bend in the river brought new scenes, none anticipated.
The raft was man-made or so you thought at the time, not that you gave it much thought. Not then. A simple vessel, a row of logs, bound together with twine. It worked just fine. It is only now that you stop and wonder about the raft, about the river, about that ride.
Of course, it’s not always possible to predict why it happened. Not even with retrospect. Not even with time. People say, “Things heal with time, give it time.” Yet as time passes, the ache is the same, the loss still counted. Sometimes all you can do is leave the room, walk away, sit in silence.
In the river you learnt what it meant to hang on, to do what mattered, to not waste time. You discovered how to lean in, how to let go and see the beauty of a journey you didn’t choose. On a raft for one you discovered that you were not alone.
You heard His voice, felt His hand, knew His comfort. That’s all there is really, only Him. One day you’ll stand beside Him “on the rail of a bridge, lean over, watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.” (A.A. Milne, 1995)