The rain began falling Monday afternoon. Warnings had preceded it. Storm alerts recommended we stay inside. Several concerned mothers had called, suggesting we stock up on food.
It began with a light rain in the afternoon. In attempt to stay dry and warm, we began running between buildings at work. A few souls thought ahead and brought umbrellas. The rest had accepted their fate or, like me, tried to outrun rain.
Life rolled on like normal. Existence speckled with obligation. Joy mixed busyness.
I like what I do here at CGA. Every moment is a chance to learn something. Occasionally, the information overloads my system. I pray that whatever needs to will stick in my brain. Anything else I just let it go.
You see, sometime ago I decided that life was too short to spend it worried. I decided to go after what I loved.
Immediately I hit a wall and suffered the pangs of dissatisfaction anew. I got up and tried again, only to fall flat again. It didn’t matter though. Two years later, after countless walls, bloody knuckles, and broken wrists, I’ve learned to float on the river of God’s grace.
Out on the river, God is teaching me to appreciate the color of sound and smoothness of water. I’ve learned about trees. Ducks. The TV show Psych. And the people next to me.
My favorite part of being on the river is floating. In the calm stillness you can hear the occasional sparrow song and the crickets near shore, but mostly, there is nothing to hear but silence.
Silence makes a loud sound. It echoes in the preoccupied heart, resounding off the walls of toil, incessantly bothering the busy soul, driving us to silence it with music, to-do lists, and emails.
Out on the river it’s not you that moves. The river moves. You float along.
When the storm hit this week I realized I had more to learn about floating and silence.
You see, light rain in cold air slowly hardens into a clear solid that sticks to everything it touches. A branch laden with solid rain becomes heavy. Slowly, large trees assume the weight of this mysterious clear substance.
A thing can only hold the weight of itself. Burdens will fell a tree, much more so a man. But a falling tree causes less damage than falling man.
On of the first trees fell around 8 pm. We know because it hit a power-line, knocking out power in the part of Gainesville we were occupying at the time.
More trees fell. More of Hall county went dark. Kevin and I left our friends house and drove home through the rain.
A moving car hits more raindrops than a stationary one over the same period of time (yay science!). Water droplets reduce visibility and increase drag on the car. And though a warm car somewhat discourages ice formation, a warm car on an icy road is like a comfortable house with a gas leak. In one second the veil lifts on your world of assumptions, burdens and work. As you careen off the highway of life into the closest ditch, a realization strikes: I’ve missed out on all the good stuff. Car accidents have a way of reminding us what’s important.
A busy mind is like ice on the road: Danger, to you and the guy next to you.
We returned home to find our roommates sitting the dark cold of a house robbed of electricity. No fireplace for warmth and no candles for light, we sat together and talked in the pitch blackness of night.
The morning afterwards I woke up wondering about email and facebook. Ugh. It bothered me that I couldn’t check. What am I supposed to do? On Saturdays I normally blog and catch up on correspondences. Busyness.
Ugh.
I lay on the floor. Helpless without things to do. Mad at the silence.
The icepocalypse had officially arrived in my heart.
Three days later I’m writing to tell you that temporary power knockouts are a gift. It revealed my ridiculous dependence on wifi and my insane craving for control over my day.
I lean naturally towards busy internet-work, and control. Every day I have to make the decision to get in the boat and release control. It’s better that way. And, generally speaking, I actually get more done.
Life is great, floating on the river of Grace.
Lay your burden down. Grab a boat, and let’s shove off together.
Blessings,
Zach
