Vitamin Stream

The canyon begins as a barely-perceptible rift in the New Mexico landscape. It is wide, and gentle. We walk up the sandy flatlands that span its base without really thinking 'canyon,' and proceed in this manner for at least a mile. We are engrossed in conversation, my husband and I. We are preoccupied.

But slowly, the canyon walls start to narrow. On either side, the hills turn themselves inwards, forming the funnel-like shape through which we must pass. The air around us begins to cool. A stream appears at our feet: First a trickle, and then a small gush, it sends the first signal that up ahead, all is not quite as seems. Water lurks somewhere above. A spring, perhaps. A hidden pool. We quicken our pace and move on.

The terrain becomes slightly less friendly. The incline slowly increases. Rocks appear, humping up from beneath the coarse sand like beasts of dubious origin, raised to do battle against unwelcome intruders. Cactii and desert thorns block our path. We cross and re-cross the stream, sometimes slipping in the mud, sometimes losing our balance on rocks worn smooth by the silent rush of the stream.

Further on, we reach a rock wall. It is a simple climb, but I feel as though it has been placed there for a reason. A huge, segmented boulder welcomes me at its top - looking like a petrified dragon, a relic of battles gone by. But this dragon has seen better days. While it creates an imposing facade, it literally leans back onto the rock wall behind it, creating a grotto from whose shadows emergethe first peaceful waters we've seen on this hike.

There is a sound of falling, of tumult, and I venture a few steps further in. Beneath the fallen dragon, hidden in the perpetual twilight of its hulking form, a cascade of springwater awaits me. It is a spring, my husband informs me. Further ahead, it bubbles silently out of the ground. But here, for the first time, it falls with the riotous splash of a current enlivened by gravity. Here in the dark, in the cave-like embrace of the earth.

I am touched.

Of all the locations this stream could have given voice to its existence, it sings that first song right here. Here, where quiet would normally reign. Here, where sunlight cannot bend to shine. I think of that verse from an old Book, "He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.” (John 7:38) I look and listen with the eyes and ears of my heart, and I hear voices calling out to me from this scene - reminding me that wherever my life-path might take me, I am called to sing out my own song with the insistence of this simple stream. Indeed, I am more than called to this task: I am promised that I will so do. It becomes my joy and my destiny, the hope and the faith upon which I hang all my deepest desires.

I smile. We walk on. Another stream crossing, a brief look ahead to where the canyon narrows and steepens still further. And then a gentle retreat as we find a new path back toward home. From below, as we walk a high trail near the streambed, the water glints through the trees like thousands of all-knowing eyes. And yet this does not make me shudder. These eyes, the sight of the great Knower that watches my every move and inhabits the very streams I hope to put forth, hold no terror for me. They are gentle, full of promise and of love. They are worthy enough to believe in. And they speak of my freedom.

We walk lower, and reach the point at which the spring's waters fade back into the sand. I feel no sadness in this - instead, I feel peace. This stream, a beloved reminder of who I am and Who gives me life in the first place, will surface again. In some humble, secreted spot, in a place ready and willing to accept it, it will rise. And until I see it again, I take comfort in knowing its memory lives in my heart -a spring of its own, rising up to quench the desert lands through which it now flows.