Great Rivers and Thanksgiving

What if there were a river, large and raging, meandering through the land, clear and deep, endless and generous. What if this river supplied water for drinking, crops, energy, swimming, fishing, transportation, and homes for animals. And this giant stream never ran dry, always supplying the needs and the joys of all who utilized it and were thankful for it and would accept it.

But what if one day, a man came through the land spreading fear amongst the hearts, telling the people that they did not deserve the water of the river and should feel guilty for loving the water rather than being thankful for its many gifts. And what if the people of the land, knowing they did not deserve such greatness and gifts as the river gave to them, decided that indeed, the man was right, and they should stop wading in the stream or diverting the water to the fields, or chasing the silvery fish that lived in its pools.

And as the river began to be more and more avoided, only looked upon from afar as a kind of delicate and separate entity, something to be guilty about using so much; the fields began to become parched places, grave yards of skeletons that once produced the richness and oils of the world. No longer did the lines of the angler drift across the shadowy places on summer evenings, or the laughter of children sparkle in the sun-glinted splashes along the sandy banks.

The people of the land became parched and poor, afraid to touch the gift of the river for fear of contaminating it, not remembering that the river was greater than they and could wash away their dirt and grime, cool them, water them and make them rich beyond measure.

The great river continued to flow but its gifts continued to be rejected by the land. There was plenty of need for it, but the people were convinced that they could survive without it and that it was their duty to sacrifice their happiness to it. The river was wasted, and the land cried out for it, but the people afraid of themselves, believed the stranger's lie that the river needed protecting from them and their careless ways.

One day a giant chasm opened up and swallowed the river. The chasm had an insatiable appetite. Because the people of the land were helpless to divert the river, afraid of contaminating it with their touch, afraid of tempering nature, they stood and watched the chasm swallow the waters of the river. Slowly, even the source of the river gave up and less and less water flowed until one day only a salty and toxic trickle flowed into the endless pit. The fish died, the cattails, the birds, and the aquifers under the ground disappeared.

Why would a people believe the stranger and not accept the great generosity of the river? Why would they believe it was good to allow the water to be sucked up by a dark pit?

Do we accept the generosity of the rivers in our life in spite of being undeserving? Are we thankful for it? Do we use that generosity to water our land, our soul, and provide fruit and energy for life? Or do we waste it by rejecting it and allowing the water to go into a gaping cavern that does not appreciate or have use for the water's gifts?

Generosity does not require one to be perfect, it's only desire is for acceptance and thankfulness. Those who continually snub generosity will become dry and parched land where nothing grows and where certain streams will refuse to go even when attempts at diverting them are made.

image: View From Mount Holyoke, Northampton, Massachusetts, After A Thunderstorm - The Oxbow (1836) by Thomas Cole