As the sun rose over the lush forest valley, a hidden fountain sang its Morning Song over all the living things:

Come to the fountain
Oh come to the stream
Come to the waters
Oh come and be free

Thrive woke to the tune and stretched out her branches, “Another lo-o-vely day,” she said.

She stooped to greet the droplets at her toes, “Hello Dew, how do you do?”
Dew gleamed.

She lifted her leaves and waved, “Good morning Sun. It’s good to see you.”
Sun beamed.

She reached up to the sky, “Good morning Rainshower, would you be ever so kind?”
Rainshower bowed and poured out her favor.

“Why, thank you!” she cheered.

Every day Thrive greeted Dew, Sun, and Rainshower. And every day Dew, Sun and Rainshower greeted her back. Dew refreshed her roots, Sun warmed her leaves, and Rainshower washed her anew. Every day rang with the same gifts and gratitude, the same new mercies. And every day the hidden fountain sang the Morning Song over all the living things:

Come to the fountain
Oh come to the stream
Come to the waters
Oh come and be free

That is, until every day became one sad day.
On that day, the Morning Song still sang, but when Thrive greeted Dew, Sun and Rainshower, they did not greet her back.

“Rainshower! Oh Rainshower?” she called.

She waited.
And waited.

Night came, and then the morning.

“Oh Dew? Where are you?” she asked.

She waited
And waited.

Night came, and then the morning.

“Sun, dear Sun,” she sighed. “It’s so very hot, and I’m so very dry. Can you hide away a while?”

She waited.
And waited.

But Sun only shone hotter.

The dirt cracked under her feet. Her branches slumped. Her leaves withered.  
She wanted to cry, but no tears fell. She was dry inside, so very dry.

“There is no water in this dry desert land,” she groaned.

A voice came like a mist and sang a gentle tune, How can you be sure?

“Hello? Who’s there?” Thrive twisted her trunk, searching for the source of the mysterious melody.  She recognized that voice, she heard it every morning.

“I see that you are dry,” said the voice.

“Of course I’m dry. Rainshower is nowhere to be found. And Dew is all gone too.”

“Have you heard my Morning Song?”

“Oh I knew I recognized your voice! You're the one who sings the Morning Song, aren't you?"

"Every morning."

"But I don't understand. The waters all around have dried up and yet I still hear your song about coming to the waters. Dew is gone, Rainshower is empty, Sun is harsh and your Morning Song just reminds me that I'm so thirsty. It’s not fair.”

“Why haven’t you come, Thrive?”

“Come? Come WHERE?”

“To the waters, Thrive. Why haven’t you come the waters?”

“Well, how would I do that? I don’t see any water!”


Thrive paused, unsure.

“Your roots are light and loose now. You’ll find that you can lift them up and walk. Come with me to the waters.”

Real water? Could it be?  Hope began to rise within her but the thought of leaving the only soil she ever knew seemed too risky.  "I don't know," she whispered.

"You need water and I know where it is. Come now, let's go."

Thrive was dying of thirst. If she didn't get water soon, would she survive? Desperate, she flexed her roots and shook the old soil to the ground. “Okay, I’m not so sure about this, but here I am. What next?” she asked.

“Right this way,” the kind voice said.

She lifted her dry roots and stomped one in front of the other. She trekked under the moonlight, over the dusty earth, until the hills began to glow in twilight. The sun rose over the dry forest valley and the hidden fountain began to sing over all the living the things. The song resounded louder than ever:

Come to the fountain
Oh come to the stream
Come to the waters
Oh come and be free

I'm getting close, she thought. She quickened her pace and chased the tune until the sound of a rushing stream began to harmonize with the melody.

“Water!” she gasped.

The fountain surged with white rapids into a beautiful blue stream. The strong current cut a deep narrow path through the territory and overflowed on the shoreline.

“Welcome." This time the voice came straight from the source of the stream, the fountain.

Thrive stood in awe.

“You’ll have all the water you need in this place. Come, settle in on this shore, be nourished by my voice, take in the waters of my words every morning and every night.”

She stretched out her roots, dug them into the cool rich soil, and guzzled in the waters.
Her trunk softened, her branches lifted and her leaves grew back - thriving.

We might be like Thrive, good at celebrating goodness when it’s good, but tired and confused when good gifts run dry. We were made for a fountain deeper, truer, and more steadfast than our circumstances. His name is Jesus and His words are life.

Let’s take a minute to read slowly, even if you've read this before - pause and take in His words now:

"Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and who meditates on his law day and night. That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither—whatever they do prospers."
-Psalm 1:1-6

"This is what the Lord says: 'Cursed is the one who trusts in man, who draws strength from mere flesh and whose heart turns away from the Lord. That person will be like a bush in the wastelands; they will not see prosperity when it comes. They will dwell in the parched places of the desert, in a salt land where no one lives. But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.'”
-Jeremiah 17:5-8





Photo credit: Weejohnmurray, "Stream" at Flickr: Used with permission.