Living Water The clear, cool water rushed downstream. Following the narrow canyon, the stream moved over rocks, through small falls, into the nooks of boulders, and then eddied back into the fast moving flow. The steep stone wall of Mt. Zion rose before us, and the colors of moving shirts could be seen above as people hiked through the wooden flume that used to carry water down the mountain to Golden and its inhabitants below. The day was clear and the sun cast warmth across stone and path and person along the trails and waterways of this mountain ecosystem. Sitting on a boulder in the sunshine, bare feet resting within the stream, we took it all in. The pines of the mountain before us, gave way to the scrub of Gambel Oak and Mountain Mahogany on opposing, sun drenched slopes, as hawks and swifts and hummingbirds floated overhead, their calls lost in the rumble of the rushing water. “Ahhh, the living water,” Sally remarked, reminding me that the moving water of the stream holds more oxygen than still water; a factor fostering high-energy marine life like salmon and trout, and creating a self-cleaning, pollution preventing environment, conducive to all forms of other animal and plant life. Living water. As human beings began to show up, lining the rocky creek shore in chairs and towels, then moving along and within it just like a day at the beach, I thought of the powerful draw of such living water. Cool, clear, and life-giving, we are instinctively pulled toward it in a primordial sense of survival, a necessity that has given way to recreation and joyful thriving in our land of plenty. Listening to the laughter of children playing in the water, and the squeals of delight from those tubing further down the stream, I felt the rhythm of something deeply elemental in this simple excursion to cliff and canyon. Were They Laughing? Walking down the canyon path a little later, we met a parade of children on bikes racing downhill at break-neck speed. At the front was a boy, probably eight years old, followed closely by a younger brother and sister, then two even younger boys on balance-bikes, looking tiny and far too small to be traveling so fast on such an incline. Not far behind came two young mothers, one pushing a stroller and one with an infant strapped to her in a carrier. They chatted with each other nonchalantly as their children disappeared around a bend downhill – clearly this was not a first-time adventure. Shortly thereafter, we turned another bend heading down toward the base of the trail, when we heard more squeals of delight behind us, this time the crew was led by one of the smaller boys on a balance-bike tearing downhill, his face a mixture of terror, joy, terror, delight, and his voice laugh-screaming as he held the little bike at the edge of control – his little Crocs scraping the path to slow and help steer. Somehow he avoided major mangling waiting just beyond that control, and the other children barreled along right behind, making all kinds of noise as they raced down the hill. This time, both mom’s appeared, moving a bit faster, as we all caught up to the kids simultaneously, finding them safely pulled to the side of the path. Looking at us with a grin, one of the mom’s apologized in her British accent, “I’m sorry if they ran you off the path.” Returning her smile, Sally laughed a reply about the wildly impressive breakneck speed sustained at the edge of control. The mom didn’t miss a beat, responding with a broadening smile: “Were they laughing?” Yes. Yes, of course they were. They were fully alive at that edge. Later in the day, we chased a bit of that edge on a pair of e-bikes, racing down the same hill. I’m not sure if the kiddos hit 25 mph or not, but it sure brought a smile to my face. The Front Range Moving into the evening, we found ourselves reclined in a pair of Adirondack chairs, watching the sun set behind Mt. Zion and listening to the bluesy tunes of a musician named Luke. Shadows danced across the mountainsides while the clouds gathered and dispersed in a white-gray eddy, giving the scene a surreal texture. We were tired but it was a good tired. The living water that had replenished foot and muscle earlier, rushed across our minds as we spoke of the marvels of the day and the pressing sense of tomorrow. The day before, we watched as a young couple exchanged wedding vows against the backdrop of a fairway extending toward jutting rocks aimed at an unseen future. The joy and celebration of such beginnings mask the beautiful struggles ahead, and the uncertainties remain blissfully lost amid the laughter, toasts, and music. Rightfully so. Such moments are sacred, to be held close for the moment they’re given, and remembered in the times when the laughter has gone quiet. I think of that young couple and the threshold of their future. How fitting to begin the path here, a mile high at the base of the Front Range marking the westward entrance into the Rocky Mountains. Peaks to be faced, climbed, conquered; only to reveal the higher peaks beyond. It’s hard not to be swept-up into the sensation of that edge: the epic sky over seemingly endless mountains, and the countless possibilities lying within and beyond. There is an immensity in the moment and the metaphor – a call to adventure and adversity. Were they laughing? Yes. Yes, of course they were. This is the awe and wonder of the front range, the great edge of life where we find ourselves most fully alive, racing down the mountainside, trying to keep a handle on the control that’s never completely ours. Living in the thrill of the unknown and the uneasy laughter of fear as we are plunged into the living water, energized by oxygenation that can only happen in the churning and rushing of its own movement. Forward. That is the only direction we are given. The water, the path, the ups and downs of the mountainsides – they all lie forward. Ahead, beckoning. The energy is in the motion. The oxygenation comes in the froth and churn. The life is given in the living. Wherever we find ourselves, may we all see our front range today, and the invitation it offers. The living water beckons, and though it does not promise calm smoothness, it does promise life. And life abundantly.
