The Force of Waterfalls

“Aslan is a lion – the Lion, the great Lion.”
“Oh,” said Susan. “I’d thought he was a man. Is he quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”
“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” ― C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

Two years ago, I had to settle for the overlook at Cummins Falls because it was drizzling, and I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant. For some reason, my husband didn’t think that combination compatible with hiking down to the waterfall’s base. But last week, for my thirty-second birthday, my best friend Misty and I hiked down to the base.

A wide creek bed, framed with forest, formed that base. Hikers either walked through the water—scaling their way over rocks—or they walked the narrow trail between the woods and the creek.

Sunlight shone off the creek, and the creek was so cold it numbed our shins. A school group and a few chaperoning moms sloughed along beside us, and the dirt path was hedged with vines and flowers that looked too tropical for Tennessee. It was only ten o’clock, so the air wasn’t as humid as it would become. Up ahead, the falls pounded over black rocks that the water had chipped away over time.

Hikers stood on the shoreline, smoothing on sunscreen or snapping pictures. A few swam in the shallows. Another group scaled the rocks to get closer to the falls. Misty and I tried climbing to the left of the waterfall, but we kept slipping on the rocks, so we scaled our way back down and waded across the shallows until we were forced to swim. We scrambled across the logs and the rocks to the right of the waterfall until we were standing in front of it. The wind from the falls felt whipped by helicopter blades. The roar deafened me to anything else.

And yet, my best friend and I remained there, laughing like girls. I spread my arms out to that force, and I stared up at that pounding, white water. I couldn’t stop laughing, even while consumed by awe.

I crouched, and the water frothed up around me as the water needled my scalp. It was one of the most beautiful, intimate, and powerful experiences of my life, and I felt Jesus’ power as tangibly as those falls.

Eventually, Misty and I moved to the side of the falls, and I stood there, laughter still pouring through me. I cried, “I need more waterfalls in my life!”

She looked at me. Wet rocks, fringed with green, formed a backdrop behind her. She said, “You do have a waterfall.”

I knew what Misty was referencing, for we had already talked about the beauty of hardship, of pain, because of how it pushes us closer to the Healer. My husband’s brain tumor in 2014 had pushed me off the shoreline into the shallows. The tumor’s reappearance in 2017 had forced me to swim, scale rocks, and then stand right up close until I could feel the all-consuming force of Jesus’ love.

Hardships have a way of forcing us to go deeper, to find new intimacy with Jesus because we know it’s the only way our souls can survive. That doesn’t mean it’s easy or without danger or pain. It would be safer to remain on the shore or in the shallows instead of scaling slippery rocks or feeling the unbroken force of love.

But that’s where the life is found. In my teens, I stood on the shoreline; in my twenties, I waded in the shallows, and now—in my thirties—I want to go deeper still. Not just because of Jesus’ ability to heal, but because I want to know Him, the healer. I want to know and feel the full force of His love.

Have you ever fully experienced Jesus’ love? When did He feel the closest to you?