Healing Waters

 This morning, I am especially thankful for the gift of water. We were born in water, our bodies are made up of watery fluids, we are refreshed by rainfall and the oceans, rivers and streams near our homes. Without it, we could not survive.

I've been meditating on the blessing of water the past few days, having spent a relaxing, yet energizing long weekend in the Thousand Islands. Watching the sunlight sparkle on a large expanse of water is hypnotizing and uplifting; being close to a river, ocean or waterfall elevates one's spirit in a way that is indescribable. Water is healing to the body, mind and spirit; an essential element that, here in the Northeast, where we have abundant rainfall and clean drinking water, is often taken for granted.

I read an article in the paper this morning about the survivors of the wildfires in Maui, who are unable to drink the public water supply because it has become so toxic due to all the pollutants that the fires generated. They can't even bathe or shower because the water releases toxic gases. It is hard to imagine having to endure such devastation and loss and then to be cut off from water, the very essence of life.

I am very thankful to be here, able to drink clean water and hike near rushing streams and waterfalls as we did yesterday, yet my heart aches for all those who don't have this simple gift of life: those in Maui; people in the Sudan and other dry land areas, who have been struggling to get clean water; those experiencing extreme heat waves and water use restrictions.

Today, I say a prayer for all those who struggle to find clean water, for those in inner cities who have no access to the restorative healing power of nature's most beautiful sources of water and I ask for God's help to do whatever I can to protect this precious resource. 

 When I am feeling down about the state of the world, climate change or the divisions that politics create, I am thankful that I can go to the water and find peace.

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

-Wendell Berry, "The Peace of Wild Things"