She is a Lake

Words in honor of my dad for his birthday, a man who believed in the inspiring power of water. Every time we crossed Old Man River, the Mighty Mississippi, he would pull over to the side of the road to make us gaze in wonder, which was often when you live in Kansas and your grandparents live in Wisconsin. He beloved there was a spirit in the water from which to learn. Maybe it took me a bit longer to absorb its knowledge, but I’m starting to understand, Dad.

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She has heard them talk of the oceans where great waters ever change from the pull of the tide. She knows of the mighty Mississippi just blocks from her shores, carving the landscape with its strength. She watches the creek in constant motion, dipping in and out of her source, carrying life to new places. 

But she is none of those things. She is not changing or strong or productive. She is merely a lake. While other waters dance, she is forced to stand still. 

On hard days, she feels tethered to the land and its boundaries, trapped by her limitations, lost in her humble nature. But this is how she is made. It is all that she can do. So she learns how to welcome the season as it comes. 

The summers are easy. This is when the sun shines and invites them to play. This is when they splash in her joy, find relief in her cool waters. This is when they say she is at her best. 

Winter is harder. This is when days grow shorter, nights colder. They don’t come to her shores like they once did. She can not move against the winter freeze like the ocean. She can not fight it like the river. She can not run from it like the creek. She must simply stand still and let the weather overcome her matter. 

But as it turns out, this is a very good thing. 

It won’t happen right away, the suspension will come on gradually, first the shallow parts, then deeper and deeper, layer by layer, molecules crystallized in time. And with every dark and darker night, like the ocean, the lake will change. Like the river, the lake will grows stronger. And soon, like the creek, she will move life. They will come to her curly edges, slow at first, cautious yet curious. And when it is time, when she has shown them, and herself, who she can be, she will support their weight. She changed. These changes made her strong. Strong enough to move them across her surface like dancers. 

And in this, she will discover, she is not tethered to the land like she once thought. She is home in it. For when it is light, she is a shelter, a communion, a joy. And when it is dark, she changes for them, stands strong, and holds them up. 

This winter, if you look careful below her surface, you’ll notice crystals sparkling in the light. That’s laughter you see, joy capsulated in time. Reminders of hope, tethered in her arms, ready to release come spring. 

This post was written as part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to read the next post in this series "Tethered to Hope.”
PS. For more hope shared, sign up for the Raise & Shine Letter. It comes out mid month-ish as a little note to help your days shine.