Fighting Against the Current

Imagine you are in a canoe, enjoying a scenic yet strenuous ride through a well-known river. The sun glimmers on the surface, the air hums with quiet life, and for a while, you’re perfectly aligned with the rhythm of the water. Then—almost imperceptibly at first—you feel a current shift. The water pulls and pushes with new force. You grip the paddle tighter, row harder, determined to regain control and direction. 

But the harder you row, the more the current resists. Your muscles strain, your breath shortens. It’s as if the river itself has decided on a different destination. In that moment, realization dawns: your efforts are benign. What’s happening is beyond you. It’s destiny, God, gravity—the orchestration of something larger than your will. 

What do you do now? 

That is the question. 

Do you keep fighting, fueled by ego and fear? Or do you surrender—just enough—to see what’s possible when you stop forcing? Perhaps you let the paddle rest for a beat. You breathe. You notice how the canoe, though adrift, still floats. The river still moves. You are still held. 

Sometimes we mistake effort for control. We confuse persistence with purpose. Yet life’s most powerful lessons often come not when we force direction, but when we release it—just enough to let the current reveal its wisdom. 

We all have experiences like this—moments when, in a canoe and despite our best effort, despite our choice to be here, we are pushed and pulled in ways that make us question the decision to enter the canoe at all. They make us question our own efficacy. But that question must be fleeting. More important is the need to focus on the here and now: what we do have control over, and how we will navigate through this experience—with awareness, with grace, and with the faith that the current, however unpredictable, is still carrying us forward. 

And maybe that’s the invitation right now—for you, for all of us. 

To stop fighting the inevitable tides of change and instead learn to move with them, not against them. To remember that wisdom isn’t only found in mastery, but in motion. The current is not your enemy; it’s your teacher. 

So, pause. Breathe. Loosen your grip just enough to feel the rhythm again. Trust that what’s unfolding is not the end of your story, but the shaping of it. 

Then, when you’re ready, pick the paddle back up—this time, not to conquer the river, but to partner with it. 

That is how we lead, live, and grow through uncertainty: not by forcing our way forward, but by flowing—awake, responsive, and faithful that every turn of the current is taking us somewhere we are meant to go.