Last week I was in Yosemite Valley, climbing with a friend. A heat wave was in full effect, so the snowmelt was making the falls flow bigger than I’ve ever seen them. The whitewater on the Merced River was huge, and much of the valley floor was underwater.
We started climbing early, due to the heat. Still, on the third pitch of Munginella, the rock was hot to the touch and I was flagging. We topped out about 11 am, rappelled down and were cooked.
The roar of Yosemite Falls (fifth highest in the world) was ever-present, and it offered an obvious relief from the heat. I walked over to the paved area about 100 yards from base and was quickly drenched by the mist that wafted from the base.
During worship on Sunday morning this all came back to me. It seems an clear metaphor for the Love of the Father. An unceasing torrent, too powerful for any to bear directly, yet to stand in the presence, in the mist, and feel the cool droplets permeate my being brings refreshment and renewal.