Seasons come where events and individuals grind against each other. Determining which shapes the other most is difficult. We consider the limits of our strength. We consider who we praise afterwards, and why we choose to enter in the first place. In this season a dead man come back to life, a town stopped a river, and father completed an icy crossing.
The Crash
The impact, the sound of metal crumpling, sent them into action. The few, with few words, worked as one. Ribs cracked under the force of compressions. Skin turned blue and lungs gasped. Little evidence suggested shock would ensure he would live. That his hands would still fold in prayer to his God and serve his wife. In that moment nothing was certain.
Be with us Lord
The Crest
29' and rising sent them into action. The many, with few words, worked as one. For eight days sandbags were filled and sent to strengthen the levees. The river rose like a fever. The community rallied, inspired by the example of a team of women- incarcerated and incredible. Work, purpose, coffee- the value and clarity was shared by all, but the crest rolled down, indifferently. A symbol of the foolishness of believing that marina and mansion, farmer and fish could all share the river without consequences. The old calculus of dam and levy proved insufficient under this new sky- driven by a feverish ocean 2,000 miles a way. Snow fell and then melted in quantities not seen before. The crest's record will likely not stand long.
Be with us Lord
The Call
The panicked call sent him into action. She waited on the bridge for twenty long minutes- water rising around her- before headlights bounced through mist. Anxiety receded with a hug- then they took each others' hand. The two, with few words, worked as one. The water topped boots, and went higher, as they waded 100 yards to higher ground. Snow flakes began to replace raindrops. There was no scolding. The boldness that told her she could make it might one day keep her administering chest compressions, or filling sandbags, when it no longer made sense. Her stride was stronger through the current than his. Fever had weakened him, and now heart rate and pressure at the temples made him consider how much a family is dependent on the exchange of finite amounts of strength for wisdom.
Be with us Lord
No season serves as commencement or finish line. More weeks will measure out in many spoonfuls of coffee and few hours of sleep. Crashes, crests, and calls will continue. Individuals and communities will grind against events. Events will grind back. The whole damn enterprise is dependent on finite reserves of strength and wisdom. Both must be cultivated.
Be with us Lord
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