Water. Life is contingent on it. I love it. A cool glass iced on a hot summer day, or a nice iced tea. A double shot of espresso or a french press. Pasta. Boiled eggs. Bread. It’s all contingent on water. The rain that wets the parched ground is a welcome sight. However, water is a force – a force to be reckoned with. And I am now locked in a live and death struggle with it.
I have always been conscious of water – its necessity, fragility. I grew up on a farm with a well. My grandparents home, across the ridge of the farm, always had sketchy water. At one time in the past you couldn’t wash clothes and shower in the same day. I’ve lived without it. The first year I was married, L and I were stuck for about four days in late January-early February without power, and consequently, without water. Life without water is interesting.
But then, I’ve always been aware of the power of water. You see, to go from my hometown to my wife’s, you cross this bridge. An 800+ foot chasm. That is a standing testament to the power of water. I’ve also seen water invade, like the fog swallows a cold mountain morning. Like the coming onslaught of the arrows of the Orcs at Helm’s Deep, water comes whether you are prepared or not. And right now, I am not. Needless to say, water as ice is laying siege to a portion of my roof right now, and, as I would be enveloped by the mass of fog on a cold morning as a child, I simply now wait. I wait for help. Life surely is frustrating at times. Yet, even then, I am to find joy. That is my mission today – to find joy in what is apparently joyless conditions. Yes, I have a roof, a floor and walls, that for the most part work. For that, I am grateful. I just want this one part, this one place that is plagued by entropy, to be restored to its true glory and purpose – to keep the wind and water out, not to covertly bring it in.
Solo Deo Gloria,