The Dark Waters
By Tim Tron
Burke County
“Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”
– 2 Corinthians 5:17
The contemplation of one’s life, how we are measured against what is prescribed by the world, can often lead us to the presupposition that we’ve met our goals or that the quiet disposition of our surroundings affirms we’ve got it all under control. The deceptive whisper beckons one’s ear, “You’ve made it. Relax.” Meanwhile, there runs an undercurrent, dark and ominous, waiting to dispel all those ill-conceived values. Often, the house we’ve built is on a foundation of shifting sand, taking only one epic event, one natural disaster of the spirit, to flip everything on its ear. That displaced satisfaction can disappear at a moment’s notice. Gone are the accomplishments and the accolades, all of which can be literally wiped away, leaving you with nothing, only to discover that your identity was based upon what you were rather than something greater. We find that to make those seismic shifts in one’s perception of life, one must experience a life-changing moment, possibly a crisis of the spirit or worse, with life-changing expectations. Once in a great while, the reality of the world crosses over into the spiritual, and we suddenly are made aware of the frailty of our human existence.
Once in a great while, life allows us to look back upon a time in our life when things may have happened too quickly, the apocalyptic nature of the moment pushed past us in such a raging torrent that we barely were able to cling to reality – the pandemonium overwhelming even those emotional tenants chiseled in stone. Those things that seemed unmovable in our lives suddenly are turned upon their head – the incredulous become credible, and the permanence of life is thrown into an upheaval of destruction to the point nothing of the former remains. We must begin anew.
It has only been a little over five months since Hurricane Helene, but even now, there are mornings when one awakes with the terror of that tragic event still lingering like an apparition from a dream waiting to lure us back into the pit of despair. Reviewing the scriptures that escorted us through the tumultuous times in the aftermath of the storm, one can find them speaking in a different voice, no less resolute but with a deeper and richer purpose. During a storm, we seek that which is easiest to grab onto for dear life as the swift water carries us into a potentially fatal demise. Those keywords, the low hanging branches, our LORD speaking, that are triggered by the trauma, so relevant, so purposeful – they touch that tender open wound and ease our pain.
“Deliver me out of the mire, and let me not sink: let me be delivered from them that hate me and out of the deep waters.”[1]
Months later, the flood waters are academia; they are our careers, the daily grind, attempting to consume and engulf one’s soul. We dive into the murky, blackened depths of the unknown to seek the knowledge we hope to find – that treasure, the pearl of a great price, slightly submerged upon the seabed. The pressure increases with each kick from our diving fins, that impetus to strive for that which we hath not. The greed of corporate achievement allows us to push aside instinctual fear. But, in the back of our minds, the innate nature of which every soul is endowed beckons to our spirit; the need for air reminds us to return to the surface, to our creator, the light above, our hope, our salvation. Reaching the inverse of the apex of life, we find the treasure we sought is not the pearl we had envisioned but rather an ancient beer can, partially submerged; the writing faded like our hope that the world would provide the essence of being.
The dark, coffee water flowed like a tempest just past the rope barrier that stretched across the entrance of the spring separating the Swanee River from the Devil’s Ear, a segment of the Ginny Springs Park near High Springs, Florida. It was a warm fall day, and we were on an adventure, trying to explore as many of the natural springs that surrounded Gainesville as our studies would allow – our temporary home, while we traversed through the season of undergraduate education. We had found something intriguing and alluring about those freshwater wonders where crystal clear water flowed as magnificently as those in scenes from the book of Revelation, “And he shewed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.”[2]
The tremendous flow of the spring’s output kept the vibrant, pure water separated from the confluence of the river that was tainted from the flood waters, which took their colorization of tannic acid from the roots of the many cypress trees and swamplands through which it flowed. We were free diving into the depths of the cavernous structures from which millions of gallons of pure water pumped hourly in wet suits fitted for the cold spring waters.
Whether from partially being lazy or just neglecting the proper course of action, we wanted to continue our day’s adventure into one of the sister springs but found it would be easier to float down the river a few yards rather than exiting, pulling off our gear, and reentering. However, we hadn’t counted on the flooded Swanee to appear as such a threat. We often listen to the world that seeks to diminish the relevance of evil and sin, convoluting it in bright, shiny wrappers that appeal to the eye, lessening the dire nature of which it affords its partakers. It isn’t until one is caught in its spidery tentacles, being crushed from the weight of bondage, that we realize the devil seeking whom he may devour isn’t just some story from a fairytale.
Swimming over the rope boundary, we immediately realized that the visibility of the confluence was next to nothing. You couldn’t see your hand immediately in front of your face under the water. However, we hadn’t contemplated the strength and power of the river’s current. Terror suddenly tore through our collective consciousness as we realized we were at the mercy of the dark, turbulent water. It was useless to try to swim against it. Even the strongest swimmers in our group could barely remain stationary, meaning the weaker members could be in danger – we had to stay together. As we gave ourselves over to the river’s flow, our imaginations ran rampant as we were blindly transported to our nearby destination. The Swanee and her tributaries were home to a multitude of alligators and cotton-mouth snakes, not to mention the debris caught up in the flood, the latter unbeknownst to us – a perilous concoction that threatened our mortality. The naive decision to circumvent what seemed illogical now had evolved into what could have been a life-or-death dilemma – in the blink of an eye, a joyous day out had turned into a potentially life-threatening condition.
The day following the hurricane, it was as if the rollercoaster had stopped, and for the most part, at least in our area, the loss of life was minimal. We stepped outside into a world that seemed to have exhaled all of its torment upon the face of the earth, and the aftermath that remained was like the trash following a major outdoor concert. Yet, the ground wasn’t littered with the partygoer’s refuge, but rather, the twisted, tortured bodies of forest, rock, and foundations of the earth that, at one time, were the bedrock of sanity in our lives. The world had been turned on its head. Nothing appeared as it should. Water ran from beneath the threshold of a store where all else seemed perfectly normal – the weight of the mountain had crushed the backside of the establishment, and a stream was now flowing through the kitchen that once served delicious pizza. Within the realm of those images, the passages in Isaiah and Psalms reached out to us, like the low-hanging branches along the banks of the Swanee River, which we tried to grab as the floodwaters propelled us against our will. Their words matched that feeling that belied the surface. Below that, seeming navigable turbulence were the hidden dangers.
As in life, we are lulled into a sense of security and power. We see people standing on the shore, hesitant to cross over the muddy, raging torrent. We ask ourselves, “Why don’t they just jump in and swim across? After all, it’s a tiny river.” What we don’t see are the monstrous forces below that seemingly benign confluence – twisted, massive root balls of trees, still attached, boiling, turning, like blades of a food processor; amongst their deadly branches and limbs, intertwined like veins, powerlines, cables usually held above the earth carrying electricity, now become reels of yarn, spinning, clutching, marauding as demonic leviathan arms, entrapping everything they encounter. Looking deeper into those scriptures that felt like words of revelation and salvation, we can find the hidden gems of more than something applicable to helping us navigate through the chaos – they become the warning signs of what can consume us and engulf us in the clutches of evil should we traverse into those murky depths of temptation. There, lying in wait, ready to consume us, those tantalizing gems whispering their lies of riches and prosperity luring us deeper, are the arms of deadly spires, their reward, eternal death.
But herein lies the paradox – the scriptures speaking, imploring us into their depths to seek profundity while the flood waters of sin seek to devour our souls. Each entices us to go deeper. Above the surface, those superficial words that unite our spirit in a common bond gleam like the sunrise on the morning dew, attracting, glimmering a message of hope, while the other a tempting attraction to, “Try it, you might like it.” But beneath that shiny exterior, a message that bites to the core of our being, creating the potential for rejuvenation, while at the same time, the proverbial flood waters are the toxic culture and world in which we live, waiting to entangle us in bondage to that sin. Our will must determine which path to pursue, and sometimes, there is but the blink of an eye upon which to decide.
As we walked out into a world that had been destroyed beyond recognition, we found the unbelievable scenes repeated again and again. Thoughts of recovery were instinctual, but after countless hours of striving in armies of volunteers, when the adrenaline is replaced with muscles and joints that ache with pain, it became apparent that we were barely scratching the surface – complete annihilation required a renewal of not only the physical but the spiritual as well. To wipe the slate clean and start over was, for the most part, the only option that remained. Once again, the scripture called for us to not only dive deeper but also become one with what was written on the page. “That ye put off concerning the former conversation the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; And be renewed in the spirit of your mind; And that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.”[3]
We found we could not ignore the relevance as we walked in a world where the floodwaters once flowed over forty feet above our heads, and now, were back in their deceptively naïve banks, flowing peacefully as if nothing had ever happened. The tranquil nature of the beast was at rest, for once you’ve seen its rage upon our land, you can never forget its potential for death and destruction. Paradoxically, once we have come to know Him intimately, we can no longer ignore the beast that roams the earth, seeking whom he may devour and destroy. Ultimately, the apocalyptic nature of the aftermath had unknowingly conceived in us the innate desire to fear Him and to seek Him in the same breath.
Trying to find meaning amid the chaos became the next step of reconciliation and recovery, if not for the victims alone, but for the volunteers as well. We realized that in a fallen world, bad things would happen. It was how we weathered those storms of life, how we leaned not on our own understanding but on God for our hope and our future; it was in those known tenants that we began to dwell daily. Watching those who lost everything comb through the tattered, stained images of loved ones, disregarding the valuables that once lined their bookshelves, reminded us of what was most important. The gravity of those repeated scenes, finding the homeowner struggling to put a broken plate or keepsake together, and stop, realizing what was the point, knowing that the things we possess are little compared with the life we have been given.
To cling onto the past life doesn’t provide the reconciliation of the spirit to what the Apostle Paul spoke about in his letter to the Ephesians. Dropping that broken knickknack of life onto the refuse pile and moving on – that is the idea. It would take a complete renewal of the spirit, ceasing to even know the former being that dwelt within us, that would enable the rejuvenation to take place. Becoming a new, remade into the image of Christ – this was his intent.
Before the seed of life is to grow, the outer shell must die so that the life within can grow. In this season, as springtime nears, we too can find hope in those remaining tangled chaos of debris that remain in the multitude of coves and hollers within these mountains – for the light of Christ will shine, and the seeds of eternal life have been planted. We will soon watch the Father water those precious seedlings, and soon, the blossoms of salvation will begin to bud.
Yes, there is hope. There is a new tomorrow. We only have to traverse through those valleys of scripture to find the more pressing meanings beneath that await our discovery – as one finding the depths of the flood waters, now receded, and appreciating their reminder that we are allowed to start anew if only we choose.
Thanks be to God.
[1] Psalm 69:14 KJV Bible
[2] Revelation 22:1 KJV Bible
[3] Ephesians 4:22-24 KJV Bible
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Timothy W. Tron lives in Collettsville, NC. with his family. He is currently the Systems Administrator for the Computer Science Department at App. State. Timothy is the former Director of the Trail of Faith in Valdese, where he still volunteers and helps with tours. He is the author of a new Christian series, “Children of the Light”, with the first book being, “Bruecke to Heaven”, revised as “Bridge to Heaven”, and his recent book, being the second, “The Light in the Darkness”. He is an active blogger, artist, and musician. Timothy also has a BSEE from UF, and is a Lay Speaker. He is currently acting as the Faculty/Staff Liaison for the Ratio Christi campus ministry at App. State. He can be reached at [email protected] You can visit his website at //www.timothywtron.com/ or see more of his writings HERE
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