The Ever-Rolling Stream

The hymn Our God, Our Help by Isaac Watts includes the words “Time like an ever-rolling stream, bears all its sons away.”  When one lives in a retirement community with 2500 residents, the ever-rolling stream becomes very obvious.  It is a rare day when we don’t see both an ambulance and a moving van.

Ambulances arrive lights flashing, as people fall or have medical events.  A man in front of us at the Christmas Eve service became ill and was helped out and into a waiting ambulance.  In the past ten days, a resident of our building had a fall resulting in broken bones and a brief hospitalization for surgery. 

As the inevitable deterioration occurs, residents move to an increased level of care…assisted living or skilled nursing.  Their independent living apartment becomes empty.  Walking to the pool each day, I always see some apartment being renovated for the next occupant.  Soon a moving van arrives and another person or couple jumps into the same stream we are traveling.  The pictures of new residents in our building are posted in our elevator with an encouragement to welcome them.

None of us knows how long we will be floating in the stream before we plunge over a waterfall.  Change can happen abruptly.  This morning, as my husband got out of bed, he had a cramp in his leg and tumbled to the floor.  He wasn’t hurt, but the sound of the splat awakened me with a momentary panic that he might be.  I have the recurring thought that everything can change in an instant.

For others, change creeps up gradually as their memory of past events disappears.  I watch with admiration and gratitude as I see a spouse compensating for their partner’s decline, filling in the blanks for the one they love.  The stream flows on and hits inescapable whirlpools of memories lost or swirling in never-ending loops.

I suppose this could be a depressing place, but for most here that does not seem to be the case.  The healthy engage in activities of every type.  Sometimes they join an activity that has been of life-long interest, but it isn’t unusual to see folks take up something new with enthusiasm.  Those relegated to the sidelines cheer participants on. 

Because many here believe that this world is only our temporary home, they look forward to the end of life with joyful anticipation.  I don’t know how old Isaac Watts was when he penned the words, but the last stanza of his poem looks forward.

O God, our Help in ages past, our Hope for years to come,

Be Thou our Guide while life shall last, and our eternal home.

At the end of the stream is an eternal home.  There may be cataracts, whirlpools and rapids between us and that home, but as we trust Christ as Savior, we are filled with hope for what awaits.