Water
Choosing this week’s theme was more challenging. But a couple small moments last week helped narrow it down.
On a foggy and rainy afternoon (my favorite weather), Ted offered to watch the kids so I could step out for some quiet time. I went out to our cabin and sat on the front porch, watching the drizzle and breathing in the familiar scent of spring. I opened the Bible we keep out there and began reading John. Soon I came across these words:
“If anyone is thirsty, let them come to me and drink… rivers of living water will flow from within them.” Just then, the rain that had slowed to a stop suddenly picked back up again, and I smiled.
A few days later, while getting the kids out of the car in the church parking lot, I realized I had forgotten Oliver’s water bottle. I mentioned it to Ted, knowing he would want it to wash down his cheerios and that the drinking fountain inside was broken. Later, when the homily began, the focus was on thirst.
That afternoon, while walking down the road and wondering what to choose for this week’s theme, the answer felt obvious. Water. One of the most ordinary things in our homes, and at the same time one of the most essential.
Choosing the photograph took some additional thought. I considered a running tap, bath toys floating in the tub, little hands holding a garden hose, even a muddy roadside puddle. In the end, Ted suggested something simpler as he sat at the dinner table with a glass in front of him.
A glass of water...
So that is the image for this week’s reflection. A simple glass sitting on our table, with a glass candlestick holder in the background, the figure of Christ on the cross on it.
The glass itself has small blue dried flowers pressed into the walls of the cup. I love how it looks, but this time the detail struck me differently. There is a quiet irony in a glass meant to hold water being surrounded by dried flowers.
It made me think about the ways we can surround ourselves with our own barriers, particularly with our faith; doubt, pain, bitterness. The feelings and experiences we press into the walls around our hearts. Over time they harden there, creating distance between ourselves and the very source meant to sustain us.
Water moves quietly through our days, falling softly from the sky and filling the ordinary spaces of our homes. We drink it, bathe in it, cook with it, and watch our children play in it. Filling up our cups, kettles, sinks, and tubs without much thought. Most of the time it is just there, appearing with the turn of a handle.
Our homes are built around the things we need to live. Pipes carry water through the walls, vents carry air, windows let in light. Our bodies are arranged much the same way, sustained by the same elements that move through the spaces we inhabit. And water, of course, is the most constant of them all. Our bodies are made largely of it, and we cannot go long without it.
There are times when that dependence becomes more obvious. Breastfeeding has been a recent reminder for me. Upon latching my baby, thirst arrives suddenly, a signal to replenish my body. And in that moment, how special that my body becomes that drink for someone else. What sustains me becomes what sustains my child. It makes me think about the way Christ describes himself as living water, a source that does not run dry.
For many of us, water rarely requires much thought. A full glass is never far away. We turn a tap and it appears. It is easy to forget how remarkable that is.
And yet we often treat water carelessly. We waste it, pollute it, and move through it without much regard. Something so essential to life becomes background noise in the rhythm of our homes.
Maybe that is why Ted’s suggestion felt right. Just a glass of water sitting on the table; ordinary and easily overlooked. Yet, it carries the weight of life itself.
