WHISPERS IN THE MUD

Kevyn Bashore
Feb 29, 2020
7 min read

Updated: Oct 19

Today I ventured to Eaton Canyon falls, nestled at the base of the San Gabriel Mountains in the Angeles National Forest. On an average day the bouldered trail snakes through a deep ravine along a dry creek bed and ends in a sheltered box canyon where a trickle of water drops from a culvert, wedged by a single boulder, into a murky, green pool.

But not today. After one of the biggest rain storms in the past twelve years pelted California, the waterfall now roars from the cliffs like an upside down geyser drilling forcefully into the earth. The once murky pool is now filled with mud, rocks, pebbles, and sand -- plundered from the mountain tops. The dry creek bed is now a swift flow of brown, frothy rapids.

This ancient setting always draws expectant visitors.

Everyone from children to the elderly, curiosity seekers to hardcore hikers, test their mettle in seeking to find the waterfall. Today was no exception, but due to the heavy rains and flooding there were fewer hikers on the path. And far fewer who made it to the falls. The rest either turned back or followed the trail downstream to safer regions. Most were not dressed for the challenge, wearing casual shoes, sneakers, and jeans, sans rain gear. Not the best choice for today’s hike through rocky flood waters and drizzle. It was like going skiing without a snow suit and skis. As usual, I wore my Vibram five finger trail shoes, water gear, and a rain jacket. And I carried energy snacks and water. Something many Californians forget to do at their peril. Sadly, some novice day hikers have died on hiking trails here due to heat stroke and dehydration.

The rocky trail to the falls wove in and out of the rapids -- eleven times.

Several crossings were problematic and took some study, analysis, and patience to find the best way across. Sometimes it just took trust and courage to find footing in the fast flowing water. Sometimes my foot found a hole or trench -- nearly pitching me headlong into the rapids. Other times I found a surprise rock or sandbar to boost me through the crossing. Sometimes I was able to snag a foothold under the water only after plunging forward into the torrent. And sometimes the entire crossing was an act of faith.

“Sometimes I snagged a foothold under the water only after plunging forward into the torrent. And sometimes the entire crossing was an act of faith.”

And what awaited me at the falls was the explosive, thundering torrent of water rumbling over the wall of the box canyon into the pool below. From there the rapids split on either side of a swath of higher ground, racing down the canyon towards the Pacific ocean.

This setting feels sacred. Ancient. Especially when closing ones eyes and simply listening. All other senses become heightened. Cold mist baptizing ones face, carried by gusts of wind kicked up by the pounding waters. Serenity.

Closing my eyes, all that remained was wind and thunder.

In a flash I was taken back to an experience in childhood. I was seven years old, racing with my father across a field, pressing against severe warning winds of black, thunderous storm clouds. I was afraid. My father calmly said: “Thunder is the whispers of God.” It rocked my world. And now, sitting here at the waterfall today, eyes closed, wind on my face, hearing only pounding thunder, I listened to His whispers.

“It took me back to an experience in childhood. I was seven years old and rushing with my father across a field against the severe warning winds of a black, thunderous storm. I was afraid. My father simply said: 'Thunder is the whispers of God.' It rocked my world. And now, sitting here at the waterfall today, eyes closed, wind on my face, hearing only pounding thunder, I listened to His whispers.”

I meditated on the raging rapids swirling past immovable rocks.

I was reminded that Wisdom, like these rocks, anchor us securely against the tempest of life. Wisdom anchors us. Wisdom like knowing how deeply God loves us. Really knowing. If we lived with the full knowledge of His pure love -- it would radically alter every thought and action of our lives. Wisdom of His love -- and His goodness. Goodness that protects us as we cross every treacherous rapid in life with confidence to conquer challenges, resistance, and fear, with the expectation that good things await us on the opposite shore.

If Wisdom is our anchor, the muddy rapids are what clouds our vision and thinking, tricking us into focusing on fear, instead of on trust. Fearful challenges can leave us shaken, stripped of innocence, vigor, faith, hope, and joy. At these junctions, it’s easier to give up, turn around, or set up permanent camp -- without ever pursuing what’s beyond the rapids on the other side.

Taking the easy way is rarely the best way forward.

The most treacherous rapid crossing of all is called Abandonment by God. It’s an illusion. A lie, because God abandons no one. Although the sufferings and pains of life can make it appear as if He does. It’s the lie that says, “God does not exist” or worse yet, as C. S. Lewis states, that “God exists, but He is a Liar. The Great Sadist that revels in human suffering and despair." Many never make it out of this torrid rapid alive, getting pinned underwater and drowned, or swept somewhere downstream, only to regain consciousness in an unknown land called Apostasy.

"The most treacherous rapid crossing of all is called Abandonment by God. It's an illusion. A lie, because God abandons no one."

Sometimes the muddy rapids we cross rise like a flood and wipe out everything we hold dear. These rapids are called Tragedy. And it brings sludge and stench into our homes called Chaos and Destruction. No one knows exactly when they will leave. Or if they will leave. And what will remain, if they do. When we see someone's home invaded by this devastation, it’s natural to avoid that person for fear that their "curse" will follow us home. Or we can become like Job’s friends who blamed Job for all his calamity and loss. To endure a visitation by Tragedy, Chaos, and Destruction, is no small feat. One can only pray for endurance and strength. To live “Under the Mercy," as written on the grave stone of the author Charles Williams. To find daily comfort, peace, joy (if possible) in the simple moments of life. To hold onto faith that God is still good. And that He loves us. And that there will be an end to this suffering.

As C. S. Lewis writes of Aslan in the Narnia series: “Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.” God isn't safe. He allowed the rapids. The flood. The tragic loss. But somehow, somewhere in the midst of all, He is good.

To accomplish anything in life takes courage to face an obstacle course of challenges. Or a river of muddy rapids. Or a flood called Tragedy. Sometimes we get beat up, bruised, set back, stripped of everything in the process and find ourselves near death. All of which can cause us to retract in fear. To become gun shy. To play it safe. To snuff out our passions. To give up on our hopes. To die to our dreams. To numb our pain through pleasure and addictions. Even addictions to work, busyness, charities, and family. Anything to keep us from feeling the pain of not living the life we always believed we were meant to live. This usually doesn’t happen all at once. It's an incremental slide towards becoming the status quo. Towards not standing out in a crowd. Towards not making one’s self a target for enemy fire. Towards simply watching others take risks pursuing their dreams while we cuddle safely on our couch, surrounded by comfort food, hypnotized into mediocrity by the internet, FaceBook, Twitter, cell phones, TV, or Netflix binging.

Taking the easy way is rarely the best way forward.

Back to my hike at the falls: As I retraced my steps downstream, through the eleven rapid crossings, and climbed out of the deep canyon ravine to my car, I turned to view the mountain rising above the hidden canyon where Eaton Canyon Falls rumbles. The towering mountain range was engulfed in mist, but a sudden wisp opened like a veil, and a piercing ray of golden sunlight struck a patch of lush grass on a steep upper slope. The effect was electrifying. The green was almost luminescent. The golden glow was ethereal and euphoric. I can’t say I’ve ever witnessed an entire mountain range overshadowed by dramatic storm clouds and then severed by a laser ray of light from the sun. It was the climax to my day.

As I reflected on my adventure, I was reminded of several life lessons. To always show up prepared, not in “sneakers” and “jeans” when the situation calls for "professional hiking gear." To not shrink back from life’s challenges, no matter how fearful the journey. To take the plunge into murky waters -- trusting we will see the next step only when we choose to take a step of faith. To prepare, act, press forward, onward, upward, farther up and farther in. In faith. Always in faith. Staying in peace. Living in joy.

For we never know where the path will lead.

Or when it will end. When the floodwaters will recede. When beauty and joy await us, with the kiss of mist on our face, the whispers of Heaven in our ears. When the sun will shine. When the clouds will part. When our slopes will bloom. And when we will stand in awe on the Mountain of our faithful journey, celebrating the One who gives us breath and life and Love. Who guided us here by --