Recently I’ve been remembering my waterfall days, when I stood at the top of the yawning mouth of the world and looked down, and when I stood at the bottom of the rush and climbed up. I’ve been happy for family members whose feet are currently wet with adventure, and dreaming about which ships my son will choose to sail whenever the compass starts calling his name.

And these are all wonderful. But for a couple of years after the jungle slipped just past my grip, I struggled to hear the voice of God, and with time I learned to long more for the unexpected experiences in the Spirit than I did for the fun of a canoe. Walking with God is the adventure that soaks past the skin, that lasts past the letdown of the flight back home.

Jesus speaks, He breathes, He teaches and heals, He gives me exactly the Word I need every night I reach the end of my strength. He meets with me, corrects me when I’m wrong, softens my heart back from bitterness, and fills me with joy when I should just be stressed. I walk through hardship, yes, yet He holds me up and rescues me when the enemy attempts to take me out. Jesus speaks at the most surprising times, and every glimpse of Him makes me catch my breath. He never answers my prayers the way I wanted, but He always answers them well. I never know who He will send my way next, which divine conversation He will design as His purposes bring His people together.

I’m so thankful for every stream He’s let me cross—and I haven’t taken my water shoes off yet. Nothing is more exhilarating than living by the voice and the power and the Word of the Lord, and He is moving like a river, unpredictable and swift.