Maybe it’s Moses parting the sea so the people could flee the Pharaoh, or the levees that protected the people of New Orleans from even worse suffering when Hurricane Ida arrived. Maybe it’s the memory of the empty highways and the parked passenger jets or the silent school rooms. Maybe it’s the reality of how you hold back your own tears trying to shield yourself or others from the depth of your grief. Whatever it looks and feels like for each of us, there are days and decades when we hold back the water for ourselves and each other, doing what we can to offer care and protection from threats real and perceived. 

Other times, the water is held back through no active intention of our own. As recently as a few weeks ago, the water that typically churns over Minnehaha Falls had slowed to a trickle, and restrictions on water use took hold in our city as the drought that passed over the plains landed here. In Flint, Michigan, and in communities all over the world, water we once trusted to sustain life turned toxic, and as the climate crisis comes home to roost the wells and taps so many of us rely on are running dry. 

Sometimes the water is held back for protection, and sometimes the water is held back from us, a signal, perhaps, to pay attention and change course quickly and with care. 

In these last 18 months, the water has been held back in so many ways. Construction delays keep us from a long-awaited return to our building on the schedule we had hoped for. The continued reality of Covid-19 keeps us caring for each other by connecting online or gathering in person in smaller groups and outside. We wait in patient and impatient expectation for the days when the waters of our community can flow freely again, filling us with the embodied experience of holding all of life’s joy and wonder and creativity and pain together. 

This month, we explore what it means to live in this present moment, when the waters are held back through no intention of our own and as we continue to hold back the waters for each other. Patience, resilience, doing what we can with what we have, and caring for each other and those most at risk of harm will continue to be our guides as we strengthen our spirits through story and song, joy and lament, moving together wherever we are in the shared rhythm of community.