You give them drink from your river of delights. For with you is the fountain of life. (Psalms 36:8, 9) (NIV)
Poor thirsty creature, her tongue hung to the dust. My golden retriever stayed at my heel, but she kept glancing at the creek like she wanted to slide down the bank into the water.
“Just a bit more,” I said.
It was best if she held her thirst. We were headed home where our swimming pool brimmed with rainwater. And I knew my dog. She couldn’t lap up some creek and be on her way. Instead, she’d wade into it, tromp in the mud, and need a bath, which we both hated. So I kept her close. Still, the creek called to her.
My life story is in that dog’s thirst. In the Bible, water represents life, splashing, satiating life. The books of Ezekiel and Revelation give us peeks at the river of life flowing from the throne of God. I long to swim in that river. I’ve craved it all my days. Even the few drops now soothing my being are my world—they define the real me.
Along the trail, God’s earthly gifts provide murmurs of life. But the purity of those mouthfuls has been muddied by a fallen world, and by my own slopping in sin. I take clean pleasures and overindulge them into muck. Yet, my thirst continues so powerful I twitch, tempted to jump into the polluted trickle and get at life, now.
Then I hear the solace of Jesus. “We’re almost home. Bolting will only get you filthy and miserable. Stay by my side a little longer, because turquoise pools of living water await you.”
Prayer: Great Companion, I’m ready for the plunge, but help me wait