The following was originally posted on August 10, 2016. It has been edited:
I took this picture near our campground in Mount Rainier, National Park, WA.
On a small hike from the Cougar Rock Campground in Mt. Rainer National Park, I stopped beside a stream to pray. There I followed a worn ritual. I set my smart phone timer for ten minutes. I closed my eyes and began to focus on my breathing. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Live into the breath. Clear mind of random thoughts. Enter into a prayerful space where connections are made and peace is found. That is my ritual and it has been a source of blessing for me as I have journeyed not only in the steps of this pilgrimage but also for the past few years. Eight or nine times out of ten, I find myself called out of this restive state by my phone, which helps to keep track of the time so I don't have to worry about it.
Contrary to what I expected, along the banks of a picturesque setting was not one of these times. The sound of rushing water was too compelling and disturbing. No matter how hard I tried to focus on my breathing; no matter how intently I sought to settle into the moment; no matter were my efforts to focus using a mantra. Nothing worked. I simply couldn't rest into any internal rhythm. There was no peace to be found within and I heard the pounding cadence of water moving across well-beaten stones. Somewhere in the midst of trying to establish serenity, I felt the light touch of sun on my face... A gentle pat that was to say, "It's okay. Let go of your prayerful efforts. Open your eyes. Go with this flow."
So I opened my eyes and looked at the grayish, murky water that was rapidly pushing downstream from the mountain glaciers. Mesmerized by the sheer force and flow, I found myself drawn away from peace and solitude. Turbulence and tumult were my new prayer partners. They disturbed and invited me to enter into the very chaos of creation. Creative forces are active in the strong flow of murky water that carries silt, rocks, and logs in the direction of gravity's lure. There is a great energy to be experienced in such things. Resisting such energy in favor of a sanitized quiet would be draining and ultimately futile.
So I allowed myself to be taken metaphorically downstream. I delighted in the sun's rays as they glistened on the water-pounded stones. I imagined being able to see the hard stones made smooth by the agency of this choppy water. I wondered about whence they came and how far they would yet travel courtesy of the glacial slurry. What if we were to delight in the active and abrupt forces of creation as much as we enjoyed the calm and serene nature of a peaceful setting? What if our prayers were inspired by rushing rather than trickling water? What if we were to think of God as a rushing stream that carries us along and changes forever our lives and our surroundings along the way with a creative power that we can't even comprehend? What if we are meant to enter turbulent rapids with a trust that they will take us to a new place instead of sitting atop safe rocks?