When You Can’t Control the River

Image by Sean Malone on Unsplash

It was supposed to be a relaxing summer day. Our teen boys dove into the water with their tubes and kicked away from us with a splash.

My sisters and I had kayaked the Lower Platte River a few years earlier with all our kids, making it a fun day full of sunshine, stops for swimming and taking pictures, and a picnic at the park at the end. It was glorious. This year, floating on tubes without having to paddle seemed like the only way to top that memorable day.  

We had opted for large tubes with flat bottoms, so that we could sit cross-legged and tuck away our keys, sunscreen, and water bottles. How nice to recline and float in the sun!

So we thought.

We straddled the tubes in all manner of awkwardness, three middle-aged women trying to clamber up from chest-deep water gracefully. The sun slipped behind mounting clouds as we grunted and giggled our way up, but we finally settled, ready to let the gentle current lull us into sweet relaxation.

Except there was no current. And now no sunshine. The river was dark, high, and disappointingly still.

Turning back was not an option; a local outfitter had dropped us off and would pick us up in a couple of hours where the river met Lake Michigan. Kicking easily through their open tubes, the boys were around the bend and out of sight already, not a care or thought for stranded adults.

Our giggles were now tinged with hysteria as we attempted to propel ourselves forward with flailing arms and legs that could not reach the water due to the size of the tubes. It was going to be unbelievably cumbersome to try to steer these tubes down a river that wasn’t moving! We scanned the riverbank for sticks or tree branches long enough to push us along, but found none within reach.

Though we chatted and managed a few more laughs, our disappointment and stress soon became palpable. This was not turning out to be the sunny, peaceful image pictured on the tube rental’s website. At this rate, the boys would surely reach the beach first and have to wait for us.

Finally, the three of us, who share not only DNA but also a strong desire to be in charge, decided to boss that river into submission. If it wouldn’t move, we would.

We secured two of our tubes together with a short, scrawny rope that dangled from one of them; the third tube-rider hung on by hand. Though not exactly in danger of being separated by the current, connecting in this way kept us out of the weeds and moving as one unit down the uncooperative river.

After a lengthy pep talk to convince ourselves there were (surely) no scary fish or snapping turtles below the surface, we took turns sliding into the cold, murky water to pull our train forward.

The mush of river bottom weeds squished beneath my feet as I tugged the tubes downriver in water up to my chin. Adrenaline fueled by frustration—and not a little bit of fear—pressed me to keep moving. I tried desperately not to think about what may or may not be swimming around me in the darkness.

We had made our plans and envisioned the day, but the excruciating truth was that we could not control the river.

Though my sisters and I had to surrender to the motionless waterway, we knew one thing was sure: Lake Michigan wasn’t going anywhere, and, eventually, we would reach it.   

Life is Like a River 

At times, life rushes by like a river in a storm, scooping up dead leaves and tree limbs in its path, carrying us faster than we’d like over rocky rapids. Other times, it is so deep and still that we must struggle, slog, and strain to move forward.

When you can’t control the river that is your life, remember three things you can do:

• Hold fast:  Link up with fellow believers who will encourage you; most importantly, reach up for God’s hand and hold on tight.

• Plod through the muck: Take those small steps of responsibility that you can, and trust God to take care of the rest.

  
  

• Relinquish the Outcome: Let go of your own expectations and surrender them to God. You may not understand what he is doing until after you’ve reached the river's end.  

  
  

The River Is Never Without Purpose

After what felt like 792,438 hours but was only three, we came around a bend to see Lake Michigan’s endless horizon—and sunshine finally breaking through the clouds. There were our boys, sandy and breathless from climbing nearby dunes while they waited for us. Refreshing waves lapped against our legs in the clear, shallow water as we heaved the hateful tubes onto the livery trailer.

Remembering that day will always elicit a cloudy chagrin in my memory and the sensation of mud between my toes. On the ride home, my sisters and I wondered aloud what was to be taken from the symbolism of three control freaks sitting atop a non-moving river.

Was it to teach the three of us moms to relax and let go of expectations?

Maybe it wasn’t about us at all—maybe it was about the boys having a chance to swim, play, and kick their way easily down the water on a summer day, without hovering mothers nearby.   

We may not always understand the slow bends or sudden rapids of the river we’re riding on, but the river is never without purpose. And the God who carved its path is the same one who carries us along; we can trust him to bring us safely to the wide, open waters of his peace.  

Inner Tube Stock photo by Vecteezy.com

Are you plodding through the muck right now, frustrated over things you can’t control? If so, I invite you to grab your Bible, download my free 5-day study, and discover how to relinquish control and rest in God’s sovereignty.

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