Receiving What Arrives
The lake is still cold enough to startle you—but I find myself in the water as often as I can. There’s something about slipping beneath that clear, chilly surface that resets me completely. The shock of it, the brightness, the way the cold gathers around my ribs before settling into a kind of quiet peace. Even on the days when the air is warm, the water reminds you that winter wasn’t that long ago. It asks you to meet it honestly. It offers beauty, but only if you’re willing to surrender to it.
Every time I wade in, I’m reminded that receiving is its own discipline. The lake is a collaborator in my creative life too. It’s rhythm of ebb and flow, the treasured rocks it tumbles to shore, how it speaks to me–I even physically use it every time I paint.
The water never rushes me. It never demands anything except presence. It offers goodness freely, but not on my terms. I have to let it meet me where I am—tight muscles, tired mind, unfinished lists and all. There’s no controlling the temperature, the currents, the small waves that rise without warning. The lake is generous, but not predictable. And somehow, that’s what makes its goodness feel so pure.
I’m learning that letting goodness come is not as simple as it sounds. So often, I try to shape it, schedule it, orchestrate it. I want it to arrive in ways I can manage, in forms that feel familiar, with outcomes I can anticipate. But that isn’t how the lake works–not in life and not in paint either.
The more time I spend in the water, the more I realize how tightly I sometimes hold my expectations—of myself, of others, of what life “should” be offering. But the lake teaches a quieter wisdom: loosen your grip. Let goodness find you in its own timing. Let it come in its own shape. Let it surprise you.
Provision doesn’t always look like abundance. Sometimes it looks like a cold swim that wakes something inside you. Sometimes it looks like an unexpected ease in a hard week. Sometimes it looks like a moment of joy you didn’t plan. Often, it looks like something small that shifts everything just enough.
Maybe you’re in a season like this too—one where you’re practicing the art of receiving, of letting life soften you instead of shape you. Maybe goodness is already gathering around you, waiting for you to open your hands just a little wider. Maybe trust, right now, is less about certainty and more about letting the water hold you, even when it’s colder than you hoped.
What goodness is trying to reach you today, and where might you need to soften enough to receive it?
May this late June invite you to release what you cannot control and to receive what is already on its way to meet you.
