I said goodbye to the reservoir last week.
Our property backs up to one of the reservoirs for the city of Columbus. Between us and the water is a road with government-mandated natural area on either side. We’ve received letters from the city advising us against trespassing or altering this natural area in any way, which means it is overfilled with trees, weeds, bushes, and many swampy puddles. Though we are close to the water, I can’t see it most of the year.
Late every fall, a morning dawns when I walk into our upstairs laundry room and catch my breath over the sight of the sun rising over the water’s surface, clearly visible through the bare branches. Hidden for months, that first sight is always breathtaking.
Last week- new leaves, buds and blooms on all the branches- I stood at the laundry room window as the wind blew. I caught one last glimmer of sunshine sparkling on the water’s surface, and I said goodbye for now.
It’s hardly a goodbye. The water isn’t going anywhere. Just because I can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. I know fully well that the water flowing from our faucets, washing our dishes and cycling endlessly through our laundry- that water at some point spent some time in the reservoir I can no longer see. Proof of its existence is all around me.
God is deeper than any reservoir, more permanent than any earthly wonder, more soul-quenching than any temporary balm I can apply here. Maybe if I think of Him the way I think of the water He will feel near even when I wonder. Maybe He is everywhere- in the smiles of those I love, in the hope flowing from the cross, in the changing of the seasons, in the truth that permeates His Word, in the water that sparkles outside my laundry room window. Proof of His existence is all around me.