Walk In.

As the priest, the Levites, and the people of Israel approached the Jordan, they were instructed to "walk in." They were not instructed to wait, or wonder, or measure the water or depth or implications of the rapids or yield of its wake. They were instructed to "walk in" (Joshua 3).

As we live and work and gather promised lands and see and take companionship in desert lands, we too are instructed to "walk in."

There are times to wait, to wonder, to analyze. There are times to do things such as these.

But there are times to "walk in."

What things looks like this week, this day, is to "walk in" with my friends and "walk in" with their pain, their grief, their wounds, their damage. Their questions, the gruntings, their stirrings, their sadness. Their lives. It means to walk in. To not wait, to not question, to not wonder. To consider implications, but to simply, do that: walk in the river with them.

As I look at my own days, my own weeks, my own months that lay in the past and ahead, I also see and cherish those who most deeply have chosen to "walk in" with me. Who have not regarded their own cost of what it would mean to truly walk with me through the depths of all of this, or to peg me as 'too much' or 'crazy' or 'one more call/conversation' but who pick up the phone, who call, who send e-mails, who simply listen. Who gather themselves on the other end of the phone or the other end of the conversation, and just take the rapids. Who say enough to let me know they know what is being said, and let me know that the pain of me does not go unnoticed or uncared for, but who also say not words that simply are words or explanations or stories. Who simply enter in and walk in the river with me.

As I walk these roads, these dirt paths, these desert plains, and as I come across the Jordans, I am ever in the clutch of these remarkable friends. And, as they too walk and enter the deserts, and find the intensity of the Jordans, may I also not wait or label or question or wonder or watch, but walk in with them.

PS: And, God parted the water. The priest walked in, gathered the wetness of their feet and cloaks and walked in, obedience marching their water-logged steps. And then God in His faithfulness parted the seas, and widened the walls of the river to make way for the walking on dry ground. Let us all be water-walkers, and watch as we wait with bold faith and expectation for God to hold back the roar of the water.