As an experienced traveler you anticipate dangers. You shout questions heavenward to a God you can’t see. You think this is a ridiculous situation, traveling on a raft totally out of control. Then you hear an “inner voice” telling you, “Just cling to the large post stuck in the center of the raft and ride this journey out.”
TOTAL TRUST continued……………….
The river is moving, at a normal flow and not with troubled currents. I sit down, my back against the rough post centered on the raft taking time to look around. The river continues to smoothly run downstream. The sun is high in a blue, cumulus clouded sky. The river banks on either side are green with trees, vines, and a few brilliant flowers framed by dark shadows. Everything but the rhythmical splashing of water against the raft is quiet. My heart calms. I relax. The post at my back is not uncomfortable and I begin dozing.
The audible lap, lap of water against the raft quickens with the current. Instantly alert, I look down river to see what is ahead. There is a sharp bend in the river, visible rushing white foam, indicating a possible water fall. I tell myself, if I had a pole I’d poke it down into the river bed and try to push my raft over to the bank. Maybe I could drag it up onto the land. Then I’d decide what to do, whether to stay there or go back into the river. Either option could be dangerous. But I have no options, no paddle, no oars. So I must stay on the raft and ride out whatever is ahead.
The raft bumps, thumps, tips back and forth and careens in half circles, moving fast as it approaches the bend ahead and a drop in the river. A few large rocks are sticking out, above the swirling currents. Instinctively I stand and grab the post in the center of the raft. Water splashes over my feet. Spray hits my face. The bundle of possessions roped on the raft stays in place. The raft seems to make its own passage through the turbulence. We drop over the edge but somehow remain upright. Had it not been for the post I clung to, I surely would have slipped overboard. But now, once again I am in smooth water. The river widens. I see further ahead. I sink down to my seat against the wooden post, relieved.
The sky remains clear, unperturbed. Midday sun has moved a quarter turn toward the West. Air is slightly breezy, sweetly scented and pleasantly warm. The river banks on both sides of me are farther apart, but even so I can see into a tangled undergrowth of trees. There’s a chattering noise in the treetops. A troop of monkeys swing by, unconcerned about the raft. Some large colorful birds fly overhead. Then moments of quiet are broke by sounds of larger, heavier animals moving through the brush. I want to cry out, frightening away whatever is out there, but I’m afraid. So I sit motionless on my raft, looking and listening intently. Then I catch a glimpse of a great striped cat, soundlessly, stealthily moving through trees. Another one stands motionless in tall grass, eyes staring at me. The monkey begin screeching and I am glad I am not traveling on land but am in the middle of the river. The raft is taking me quickly away with strong currents. The sturdy, rough wood taking me quickly away with strong currents. The sturdy, rough wood against my back feels comforting. I cling tenaciously to the post, remembering the “Inner Voice” that advised me to do so when this journey began. I take a few deep breaths and begin humming a hymn learned many years ago. “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound-”
A breeze that was once gentle begins to blow sharply against my face. There is a drop in temperature. Looking up I see the once white clouds overhead have become dark gray, threatening, pregnant with rain. Again the raft goes into a topsy-turvy thumping, bumping over the agitated water. I cling tightly to the post. When a lightening struck tree explodes on the bank nearby, my grip becomes tighter. I’m doing what I was told to do, now the rest is up to God. “Father, you made the lightening bolts; so you can contain and control them.” I am pelted by rain, but strangely do not shake with fear or cold. “It is well, it is well, it is well with my soul”. Perhaps “trust” to be “trust” must always be tested. The dream is ended but the message remains.
