Down to the river to pray...

There it was in my dream, the river, much as I remember it from my childhood. Dark brown clear flowing water with old water oaks leaning over the banks, Spanish moss flung over the branches like gray scarves draped just so, white sand bars, fish that come to nibble the hairs on your legs if you stand still, and the hot still air that cools as you walk down the steep bank to stick your toes in the cool water...
The Withlacoochee River was our summer playground, fishing hole, baptismal pool and the coolest place we could find on South Georgia hot summer days in the Time Before Air Conditioning. We lived only a mile from the river, the boundary between Florida and Georgia. Often after chores were done on Saturday, we would flee to the river for its comfort, carrying a picnic supper. I learned to swim, sort of, in its flowing current. The closest I came to death was launching out in my timid dog paddle way, swimming to impress my daddy, losing my footing and going under two or three times. I carry a vivid memory of the circle of blue sky in the midst of the brown water as I slipped under and under and under again... peaceful image in the midst of great fear. And there the river was, again, in my dream last night.
It has been a hectic week, a week of contrasts, decisions and pain. Sunday afternoon I wrenched my knee badly when I fell from Dixie Chick. Tim, Bill and I spent all day Monday in the lawyer’s office, my leg elevated on various pieces of furniture, trying to reach a mediated agreement on our pond repair. Mama and I spent most of Tuesday sitting in the doctor’s office waiting to be seen. It is a simple sprain, painful and a pain to live with but nothing that time won’t heal. Wednesday I taught one class. Thursday I had two three hour classes. Friday I carried my neighbor to the hospital and sat with her and her husband for the morning. Saturday I finally made it to the grocery store, the feed store and Rose’s. In between all the activity, I lay around with ice packs on my knee. My house is a wreck, a dirty wreck, with piles of all sorts decorating every available flat surface and church meets here this morning. I needed the river.
In my dream last night, I was driving the geezermobile down the old blacktop faded gray by the hot summer sun. Instead of turning at the beer joint on the state line, I drove a little further and turned left at the white church trimmed in red. As I drove by the river, I could see fish jumping for joy, smell the sweet hot smells of dirt road and river and trees and moss. Like the fish, my heart soul leaped for joy and all was well. And there it was... a piece of the river flowed over the road, unseen depths, road going in one side and coming out the other. I knew others had crossed over because there were houses and people on the other side. Unknown depth, unknown risk, could the geezermobile (and I) make it through the water to the other side? I got out of the car and stood there yearning to cross over but afraid to try... blue circle in dark brown water time. I woke before I could decide and lay in bed pondering the meaning feeling of my dream.
Lent is my river these forty days and I have been standing on the banks wanting to get wet. The hectic events of this past week have kept me dry. It is time to drive the geezermobile down into the water to pray, let the brown clear rushing waters wash over me and rinse my soul out. Let the water carry all the dust and grime accumulated this past year away leaving me washed whiter than snow. It will be over my head and I risk losing my life to save it but that is what Jesus said we must do. So here goes... holding my nose in case I go under, I am wading into the unknown depths of the river, praying. It is well with my soul...