Don’t Push the River

When to Sit Still and Let the Current Lead

I didn’t write last week.

I didn’t let you know ahead of time.

I didn’t explain why.

It wasn’t premeditated. I woke up early last Sunday morning and sat down to write like I do each week. I had been reflecting on a few ideas. They seemed underdeveloped. But more than that, I didn’t feel like writing.

I was tired.

I felt uninspired.

I just wanted to sit still.

So I did.

The phrase Don’t Push the River kept replaying in my head. That line was popularized by Richard Rohr in his first book, Everything Belongs. It means to stop striving and forcing outcomes. Trust the natural flow of life. Let go. Stay present. And allow God to work in and through each unfolding moment.

When you need to rest, then rest.

When your mind needs to sit still, remain still.

When the spring is running dry, wait for the rain.

When the mighty river is rushing, go with its flow.

This practice isn’t easy. Making it a lifestyle is even more difficult. My first impulse last Sunday morning was obligation—I felt like I would be letting you down by not having a reflection sitting in your inbox Tuesday morning. My next impulse was to explain myself. I believed I needed to write you and let you know I was taking the week off. And while we’ve developed quite a relationship over the last few years of my writing, a quiet, reassuring voice kept saying, Don’t Push the River.

When one of my friends noted that he hadn’t seen a new post from me last Tuesday morning, I recounted how these meditations began. They were not for an audience. They were for me—for my own peace, my own rest, my own healing. And if that outflow becomes an obligation, or something I have to justify when I don’t do it, rather than something generative, then I’ve made it into something it was never intended to be in the first place.

I know my example is just about writing. However, this is true for each of our lives. Obligation shackles us. Explaining ourselves can become a way of constantly justifying our need to slow down and be at rest. A grounded, peaceful life doesn’t push the river. It moves with it. Sometimes it ebbs. Sometimes it flows. But it always originates from a place of stillness, presence, and trust.

Question

Where in my life am I pushing the river instead of trusting its flow? Am I living from a place of presence and trust, or from pressure and obligation?

Peace,

Brandon

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