In comes the tide. Predictably. Even so, seldom without being noticed. Even in just the gentle rise and fall of that which the water supports; we know. And not only know, but welcome. And sometimes, the tide swells a bit beyond that to which we grow accustomed (and perhaps immune). 

And the tide moves the water, to fill up the spaces designed to hold it.

And on occasion, to move beyond, to areas left vulnerable. 

And continuing to move, securely held by the river; nurtured by the movement, the erosion, the transporting of minerals; supporting the aquatic life, seen and unseen. And as the water gently rises to meet and then laps at the vulnerable places, we feel an almost divine sense of helplessness, alongside the tranquility of seeing beyond. Because, no matter how severely (or gently)  the unimpeded current affects us in our fragility; we know that the tide will again recede. And we will have time; to reflect, repair, and rejoice before the next inevitable and majestic rise.  

  

And we learn, sooner or later, that we are never without provision. Even in the storms of a lifetime, hope is never fully absent, voices of encouragement never completely silenced  and promise never a frozen relic. And each day, with each new swell, we find the places to be; even if we are forced there. And where we are guided (especially when circumstances may seem to be cruel, and leave no other options), is just where we need to be.