The River of Life: Dear Dad...

I wrote this for my dad over a decade ago seeing in him things I hoped to come in future days. After this past weekend and being in the Temple with him for the first time in 16 years I felt I should share this.  

Water rushing by, almost like a dream. Cannot wipe away the cobwebs of a short nights sleep. Heavenly golden rays find their way through the wooden giants, trunks as old as those who gaze upon them. Strong and firm the giants stand, gazing upon the river like protectors, friends.

The sun splashes upon the rippling pool of life, dancing and singing its silent song. A bird or two and a breeze, always a fresh mountain grown breeze. It cools and brings with it a crispness and familiarity that can only be felt at this place and at this time.

I came with excitement; I came with hopes to catch the biggest and the best. Now frustration and strife disturb my serenity. “Give up, you are beaten... you are no good!” These words pierce my mind with sharpness and relentless pain.

After what seems years it finally comes, it is the hand, as big as life, it rests upon my shoulder. The hand, scarred and worn from years of labor, fills my soul with warmth, warmth of endless love. Oh the voice of one who knows, he sees, he understands. Softly he speaks, “my son, you have a tangled mess here. I will help. Give me your line, you have done enough. Now go rest for a time and allow me to heal and mend wrongs you cannot rectify.” With the tender love of a father he makes everything better again. I continue on with renewed intensity, but now with an increased understanding.

The day is far from over. There are many joys to experience, many fish to catch, but I now know; HE will always be there, my Father by my side. I need not fear.

Now I see I see with eyes of experience. Many have let go and many have wandered. Many have never experienced the healing hand of the Father, for these I morn. Yet as the hours flow by I have seen a mighty few, as strong as the river rocks are these. In the river of life we view many. Some sit on the banks and dip their toes while others merely cast a solitary reflection. Some jump head first into the rushing waters and drown, or simply float away.

The mighty few are those who have fallen in unknowingly and find that all light is gone. Yet these few emerge from the bottom of the cold depths to struggle with life itself. As a result of this struggle two things happen. The first is that the rough stone edges of heartache begin to wear away. Second, the river then parts as it passes by or smoothly flows over these rocks so few. Where many drown these precious few live. They live what is almost a new life, one were all who pass pause to honor the life lived and savor the life now created.

My dad is among these mighty ones. These mighty few have fought for so long that they cannot see their own reflection of what they have miraculously become. I see, I see the light that now burns, I see one who I love more now then ever.

The Father, he has those he cherishes the most. These are his precious river rocks, the stones that seem to fight an unending battle against the currents of life. As his Son once delicately put it, “for who that has ninety and nine and has lost one does not leave the ninety and nine to find the one. And when returning with the one rejoices more over the one then over all of the ninety and nine. Thus is the kingdom of heaven.” So it is with the mighty few, rejoice, rejoice indeed.

We are not alone in this river we call life. Many are there to guide and to love. We may catch the big one and we may not, but all that matters is that we have come, and we do not finish till we are done. When the sun is set and night is drawn, when finally we are brought home.

Now I vow, I vow to return and not alone. Those I love and those I hold dear, they will be by my side or leading the way. I will not return till all I love are with me, and then will the work be done. Hand in hand, the Father we will greet and share all together the wonders and the heartaches and greatest of all the joys and splendors of the river, the river we call life.

 -The Feeble Soul

© 2013