A Place of Refuge

There is a park in my town where I love to go to sit in my car next to one of the two rivers that meet but do not mix. It is a peaceful place, a place I call my refuge. I have been there when the water was as smooth as glass, when it gently washed ashore in small ripples, and when the winds angrily pushed the foamy waves forward reaching out for those of us brave enough to sit and watch. I have seen it with frozen edges and snow covered sand. I have seen it flooded from storms, so much so that I was blocked from entering by vehicle. I have never seen it when it was not beautiful. I have never been there when I did not feel God's presence. Sometimes I just sit and watch the people who come to feed the ducks and geese. Sometimes I take photographs. I always find it the most perfect place to pray and listen for the voice of God. No, I do not hear Him audibly, but I hear Him in the beauty of this place and He speaks to my heart. Here I am assured that He will calm life's raging waves.

There is a lone tree standing there in the sand. It has endured much as it keeps watch over the waters beyond. It's gnarled roots are becoming more and more exposed as recent storms have washed away more of their protective covering. Today I thought of how those roots resemble fingers, curled and digging into the sand, refusing to give up its grip. It is a powerful image. It reminds me that we, too, sometime have to dig in and hold on. Life is not always smooth or gentle. Sometimes it is angrily rushing at us, attempting to wash us away with its cares and burdens. We must not lose faith in the One who created all and controls all. We must continue to tighten our grip, to hang on, to refuse to relinquish even a fraction of our hope in Him. 

As many of you cannot visit my place of refuge, I would like to share two pictures. Would love to share more but just not enough room.

A beautiful day

Holding on  10/29/2015