The river below our home winds its way through a valley of farmland, pastures, and wooded property, with rocky walls that jet toward the sky. Layers of color and multiple patterns seem to tell a story with each turn, and each tier of terrain.

I have found myself standing on the banks, sitting high on rocky ledges, and even swimming in the water multiple times over the past several months for a variety of reasons, each having added a layer upon my life in monumental ways. Layers that have produced something beautiful in the midst of one of the most complicated and challenging times I’ve ever experienced.

The flood waters that rose in early February 2020, changed the path the Umatilla River takes dramatically. A large amount of our alfalfa field washed away with the wild currents, taking irrigation pipe, acres of crops, and trees with it. Channels that have carried our inner tubes summer after summer, were separated, and large rocks blocked the direction we were used to taking on our afternoon drifts.

The waiting and wading through the unknown of the storm we didn’t see coming was hard. The river dropped, but continued to move with power below our home. The brown waves, filled with dirt and debris, looked as confused and discolored as we were. I sat high above it on a rocky ledge several days in a row, watching and listening with hope, choosing to believe that God’s love was deeper than any of it, reaching far beyond the banks, and turning the darkest of days into chances to start again.

Roads were repaired, fences were fixed, and damages, as well as losses, were reported. Detours to the plans and paths we had set for our future were seized, and we trudged on.

In March, a different kind of flood poured into our lives, just as unexpected as the first. The words pandemic, global, widespread, essential, and prevalent seemed to be coming from every direction, and the world as we knew it, just a month before, came to a standstill. Waters weren’t rising, but fears and worries spiraled upward, and the daily schedules we were accustomed to, disappeared.

There was a sudden abundance of extra time in the day, and because of that, our family was able to experience the season of spring at home for the first time in history. The four of us watched the last of the calves make their way into the world from the back deck, heat-checked for breeding purposes, and branded small groups of calves when the sun was shining and the wind was only a whisper. Chores were spread throughout the day, meals were prepared without a time crunch, and “happy hour at home” became a nightly ritual we all looked forward to.

Different recipes were tried, favorites were shared, and dinner around the kitchen table became the new normal. It was a different style of living than we had previously experienced, and as crazy as it sounds, we loved it. We chose not to let the flood of worry about a virus and shutdowns get the best of us, and traversed through the spring, counting blessings and connecting with each other in ways that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. Just like the river that continued to wind its way through the farmland below our home, we were weaving a new path that seemed to know right where we needed it to go.

Kayaks, inner tubes, and lawn chairs were necessities as temperatures rose. With everything canceled, from stock shows, to concerts, to the county fair, the river seemed to call to us like the coyotes do at dusk. From beginning to end, the rock walls echoed with laughter as we paddled, swam, and floated our way through the hot afternoons of summer. Birthdays were celebrated, anniversaries enjoyed, and friendships strengthened on our small stretch of the river.

Water fights erupted, fallen trees were dodged, and rocks were skipped. The new routes that had been formed from the earlier flooding, offered the right amount of rapids for needed excitement, as well as glass like stretches for closing our eyes and relaxing a bit. Pelicans were admired, cranes observed, fish caught, and snakes avoided.

Without even trying, the river filled our days with opportunities to soak up sunshine, and kept us moving forward, only paddling backward in hopes that it would last a little longer.

Fall has just arrived, and with it, an entirely new sort of flood. Online platforms, rules and regulations, and distance learning opportunities are coming at us from every angle. Daily schedules have changed, and layers of learning fill our calendars, planners, and check-off sheets. The extra time that there seemed to be an abundance of just months ago, has now vanished into thin air, and new words like accountability, expectations, and rigor keep us awake at night.

As parents, we have had to take our levels of patience and understanding to entirely new levels, along with passing on organizational skills to our children, that we may not even have a handle on ourselves. It’s tiring, and hard, and also an opportunity that I’m not certain I don’t want to miss. We’re getting to see exactly what our children are like in class, and we’re getting to watch them navigate a whole new world of learning right before our very eyes.

From Spanish to science, and even through diagnostic testing, this layer of parenting is one I don’t know if we’ll ever get to experience first hand again. So, for now, as heavy as it feels, and as hard as it’s pushing against everything we’re used to, we’re going to let it wash over us like the water of the Umatilla does over the piles of rock along its shores below our home. And, if we’re lucky, it will uncover layers of strength and perseverance that someone in the future will grab hold of for evidence that something great happened here.

Yes, good things have come with the floods of 2020, and we’re living proof.