Living in the Flow

Things I Used To Do Again

Sunday I attended an outdoor church worship service on Belle Isle. In lieu of a sermon, everyone was invited to wander and listen. Of course, when it was time to move, I wandered to the water. Beneath a hot yellow sun nesting in a perfectly blue sky, I made my way through the golden weeds and green grasses to the edge of a cool Lake Okonoka, resting among lagoons and canals and recently reconnected with the majestic Detroit River. The fifteen minutes allotted passed by with the speed of summer lightening. And left me wanting more. More nature. More sun. More water. More wandering. More listening.

After the service, on the way off the Isle, something told me to drive by the pavilion, where many years ago I used to rent a kayak and paddle my way through the inland canals. Thankfully, I listened to the voice nudging me in that direction. Kayak rentals are back!

With great excitement, I headed home and changed into clothes more suited for kayaking. Quickly returning to my favorite place, Belle Isle.

If you’ve ever ventured into the canals of Detroit’s Belle Isle, it is a unique way to paddle. The water color is a gray tinted shade of aqua that, without notice, shifts to look like Gulf of Mexico inspired turquoise. There are several spots where downed trees and large limbs seemingly block the path, but in reality, just require slow and careful maneuvering to get around. There are bridges to go under, some lower than others. There are beautiful birds overhead, ducks, swans, and turtles floating by. And if you’re lucky, you’ll catch glimpse of deer and pheasants in the brush along the shore. Belle Isle, as a whole, is a significant and diverse fish, wildlife, and terrestrial habitat, her health an indicator of a healthy global eco-system.

Paddling along, I began to compare this kayak trip with the one I had a week before on a much bigger river, an hour from the city I call home. The water clearer and smoother. Flowing much faster. There were even some rapids to traverse, which at first almost convinced me I wasn’t skilled enough to attempt. But I’m glad I didn’t give up, even though one of them succeeded in flipping my brightly colored vessel.

Navigating over a particularly large tree stump in the narrow canal that had no path to go around, I remembered how refreshed and free, and full of life I felt when I ended up unexpectedly in the river on my previous excursion. I wasn’t afraid in either instance. I felt strangely grounded and warmly connected to the moment, to the water, to a source I long to name and that evades all naming.

That ripple to the right of the kayak was left by a turtle. Not pictured: the swans just around the bend.

Alone or with others. Canal or river. Above or in the water. I was living in the flow. Living in the flow is not the same as going with the flow. In my experience, going with the flow is more like following the crowd, taking an easier path, allowing someone else to set the pace and steer the journey.

Living in the flow is bravely taking the path that is calling your name. It is listening for and responding to invitation. It is entering the water and saying, I am ready. It is asking nature to reveal a message; to tell a story; to unravel a new perspective or possibility. It is an act of trust, in yourself and the waters of life. It is believing that each paddle is guiding you to the next right place.

The thing I used to do again, isn’t kayaking, but rather living in the flow. Wandering. Listening. Responding.

Sunday morning at the edge of Lake Okonoka, during my fifteen minutes of contemplative wandering, I stopped. Knelt down. Dipped my fingers in the water. Stirred it. Splashed it on my arms and legs. Flicked it on my face. Ran it through my hair.

As all creation is crying out for peace and justice; as earth is burning and the oceans violently turning; as power and wealth are consolidating into fewer and fewer hands; as war and genocide are normalized and justified, as political games increase in scale and presidential politics heighten the stakes; as more people are afraid of what may come, I heard a gentle whisper. The water wasn’t the messenger. It was the message.

“You may not have the words to describe what freedom is, but you know how it feels. It feels like water inviting you in.”

When I made that quick trip home to change and rush back to rent a kayak, it was because of a direct and personal invitation. To encountering freedom. To living in the flow. Each paddle a prayer that others will join in.

Find a place where the chaos of the world cannot drown your joy.

In these wildly uncertain, anxious, and frightening times, I imagine 10 Camels and specifically, Wednesdays at the Well as a place of inspiration and replenishment, speaking to fearful things in ways that do not induce more fear. This doesn’t mean avoiding hard topics or heavy emotions, but addressing them with kindness and compassion from a fountain insulated by love.

I believe that grief and hope can fill the same space, just like sorrow and joy are closer friends than we can ever imagine. I share my words that they might be a glass of water, or a buoy, or a life jacket, or a pool noodle, or kayak, or canoe, or inner tube, or a lighthouse, or a warm dry towel when the current tips you over.

If these words have filled or encouraged or challenged you, I graciously invite you to share them with others. And to leave a comment or send a message to let us know you’re in the water with us.

Water-fully yours,
Rebecca & 10 Camels