An excerpt from Beyond the Scars (pp. 153-155) to mark the 14th anniversary of my survivorship.
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As I near the end of this writing project, there is a lump in my throat, my heart as well. I’ve been saving this particular writing for a few weeks now, reserving if for a time such as this – an almost-ending time. This thought seared through to my heart one evening while I was out taking a walk with my daughter. It is a heart truth that simply and profoundly says,
“God will take you across the river.”
Let me explain.
As our walks go, my nine-year–old daughter rides her bike while I pitifully endeavor to keep up with her pace. She’s usually far ahead of me; I’m mostly fine with her taking the lead as long as she follows this one, simple rule: she must wait for me before “crossing the river.”
The river – that’s the term we use to describe the intersections of streets in our neighborhood, including the corners and the stopping points where we “look both ways before crossing the street.” She isn’t allowed to move forward with that crossing until I give her the go-ahead.
“Wait for me, Amelia, before crossing the river.”
She’s always faithful to wait, always eager to move ahead, but willing to linger for her mother’s official word. Funny thing: she constantly arrives at the crossings before I do, at least until a few weeks ago, when I beat her. She had stopped her forward motion to remove a pebble from her shoe; I kept moving while she did surgery. I could hear her saying, “Wait for me!” as I moved along. Her words didn’t stop me, but then she said something that did.
“Mommy, please wait for me before crossing the river. You can’t cross the river without me.”
Like a bolt of lightning from God’s heart to mine, I was struck by the profundity of her words. I couldn’t move. Instead, I just cried, and when she arrived at my side and inquired about the reason behind my tears, I spoke some truth over her precious young heart. “There may come a day, sweet one, when you’ll have to cross this river without me. But rest assured, God will walk it with you. He’s gone ahead of us both, and he’ll make sure that we land safely on the other side.”
It seemed enough of a reason to quell her curiosity in that moment, although I’m certain she didn’t feel the ground beneath her feet shaking in the same way I felt it quaking. Her heart’s not quite ready to undertake the weightiness of such truth. Nevertheless, I spoke it, and today I write it, believing that somewhere down the road, she’ll retrieve this memory from my pen and better understand the fullness of what I’m saying – how I’m trying to live my life faith forward, with not a single crumb of doubt left in my wake.
Whenever that day comes for me – my crossing-over day – I don’t want there to be any lingering questions as to what I believed and where I’m headed. Mind you, I’m not in much of a hurry to take on the Jordan River, not yet. My heart is still closely attached to the promises I’m living on this side of Canaan. The life I share with my husband and my four children is a good life to live. It is a life worth fighting for, and then, as God so chooses, a life to lay down in favor of the greener pastures and perfect promises of the land just beyond this one – a home across the river.
Until then, I want to fully live each day as it arrives. I want to give my children some years, some more time to get grown and get established in their faith. I want to be part of that shaping process. In addition, I am committed to the earthly tenure I’ve been given. Life is a precious gift and worth preserving. God created me with a purpose in mind, and for as long as I have breath, I am wholly devoted to that purpose – to know God more with each passing day and then, out of that knowing, to lead others to know the same. Kingdom truth can march on without me, but it feels right and good and sacred to be part of the story – the telling of it and living it therein.
Yes, I still have some earthly attachments. Life on this side of the river has been a good landscape in which to grow my kingdom heart. I’ll keep walking the streets with my daughter and crossing the rivers with her for as long as I’m given the privilege. But I’ll always do so with an eye fixed on forever. I’ll keep telling her about Canaan, keep reminding her about home and about the God who has crossed all rivers in front of her, making certain of her safe arrival on the other side. It’s what I must do. It’s all I know to do. It’s how I must live – fully committed to the journey at large.
I don’t know where you are today. Maybe you’re standing on the edge of your Jordan, preparing your heart for a difficult crossing. Maybe you’re far away from the water’s edge, riding your bike and keeping pace with limited understanding. Maybe, like I am, you’re somewhere in between, approaching the river, yet still far enough away that you have time for further conversations – important living words that impart God’s kingdom seed into the soil of a future generation. Wherever you are, today is still today, and there is still time to take the hand of Jesus and trust him with the crossing that’s ahead.
God will take you across the river. No one else can. No one else deserves the privilege because no one else can land you safely on the other side. I cannot carry you there any more than I can carry my daughter with me as I go. I can only point you to the one who can. The one who has walked it before us and whose name is written on the deed to Canaan. Only God can offer such glorious hope to our wounded, fearful, and often discouraged hearts. Canaan is God’s Promised Land to give. And because of his Son’s surrender to a cross, we all have a share in that inheritance.
Today’s a good day to take a walk with someone you love. Take the lead, or fall in step behind, but as you arrive at the “rivers” along your path, take a hand. Cross the river together, and remember the hand and heart of the one who has crossed it before you.
God will take you across the river, readers. And should we never meet on this side of the Jordan, I’ll be standing on the shores of Canaan, awaiting your arrival. Safe passage. Keep to the road of faith. Thus, I pray…
To stand at the Jordan and look over to Canaan, Lord, is a glorious revelation of grace. Thank you for all the reminders of promise that come to us; they help us move forward with perspective. Canaan seems so far in coming, yet we know it’s but a moment from now. Thank you for crossing the river ahead of us, for making our path straight, and for securing our safe passage prior to our departure. Father, our attachments to our earthly tenures are strong. Sometimes we’re unwilling to let go of them because of the pain attached to the release. Temper the pain with the truth of what awaits us, and gladden our hearts with expectation for the forever the we will share together. Amen.
©F. Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.