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| The View From Up Here |
The canoe made a dull scraping sound as we pushed it into
the current. The girls had tested their
life jackets and approved with large, delighted smiles as they floated
effortlessly across the surface of the water.
As we prepared to shove off we were met with our first obstacle, a large
downed tree about 100 feet from our launching point. A few moments later we were blasting around
it, the girls nervously crying out ‘daddy?!’ as I told them to keep their
paddles up to cover their eyes. Then it
was behind us and the river opened up into miles and miles of memories. Over the next 11 miles I watched my daughters
grow from timid and fearful to relaxed and experienced. That’s what the river does, you see. It’s relentless push, it’s consistent power,
it’s methodical, mechanical movement – all the while alive – changes everything
that it touches.
My eyes drifted from the daughters in front of me, young and
free, to the deeply cut valley through which we paddled with it’s rock steps
and towering tree lining and I could not escape the immensity of the scene as
it unfolded before me. This same river
that carved the valley now shaped my girls.
With each passing mile their smiles became more relaxed. Like the rocks that we raced over, worn
smooth by the steady hands of the river, so my girls were being changed. Did they realize it? Of course not, they were just having
fun. But the change was happening to
them, unbeknownst to them, as they paddled along the river. Before long they were picking lines to aim
for in the water, sensing where to point the boat by the color of the water or
the presence of obstructions protruding.
A few times we were spun around in the canoe to where my eldest
daughter, no longer on point in the front was in the rear, facing backwards. I called out commands, ‘spin in your seat’ or
‘paddle hard on the left’ and each time we would right the vessel and resume
our march down the river.
What these girls don’t understand, what I barely do, is that
these days we spend playing on the river are sweet memories for me to cling to
as we both grow older. But they are
more. They are also solid granite
foundations upon which these girls will grow, climb and reach higher than they
realize today. I love my little
girls. I must accept, however, that just
like the water must push the canoe and the rocks must be smoothed by the
current, they too must grow. So I look
to this partner which has flowed since long before I was born to help me raise
them right. Days on the river will turn
to nights under the stars. Time spent
learning and marveling over God’s creation will turn to a deep love and
appreciation for His goodness and love for us.
Those lessons, carved out together and indelibly as the river valley
under the pressure of the water, will press their marks deeply into my daughters’
character. It will shape who they are
and who they become.
But before then, there is another downed tree to navigate
around. There are more smiles to light
up their faces and warm my heart. There
is more laughter to join with the singing birds and babbling water over the
rocks. There are more moments where I
look at them when they don’t realize it and I thank my God that they are mine,
there with me, floating down God’s river.
These moments slip away like the
water through my outstretched hands over the edge of the canoe. I know I can’t hold that water any more than
I could stop these moments. So I cherish
them, allowing them to bring joy and hope for the future while being a
refreshing blessing for today.
I look ahead to see Zoe fast asleep in the middle of the
boat. Rori is back on point helping me
to guide and steer. My mind drifts back
over the generations that have used this river.
It has a written history during the Civil War in America and, no doubt, generations
before that in the unknown Indian histories.
How many fathers have hunted, trapped and fished these waters with their
daughters? How many families have
beached their boats and laughed over lunch?
How many men have watched as their daughters became women, right before
their eyes over the weeks and years spend here?
Each time I set foot in the river I am confronted anew with how
overwhelmingly blessed we are to have this land. I feel like a king as my family splashes and
jumps and plays. Only a truly rich man
can take his children each week to a place like this to enjoy life together as
a family like we do. The sight of
another stretch of rapids pulls my thoughts back to the task at hand.
Zoe wakes up and helps to steer us towards the center of the
rapids as the canoe bounces and accelerates.
I hear one of them say “This is the best day ever, I don’t want it to
end”. Me either, I think, me
either. And again, I am richer than a
man like me deserves. In just a few days
we will be on the river again. And the
week after that we plan to take the boys and mom too. We are blessed. We are rich.
We are doing it. And, for that, I
am eternally grateful. I came to this
river for the first time about 15 years ago.
It left it’s mark on me then. Here’s
to many, many more years enjoyed first with our children and then with
theirs.
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