THE WILL OF THE RIVER

Alfredo Q. Gonzales

1 By my wife’s ancestral home flows a river. For a dozen summers I have visited it and almost every
year, I make an effort to trace its course back to its source in the neighboring hills; I do not consider
my vacation there complete without doing this. In common with other streams of its kind, our river
suffers from the summer drought. I have seen it so shrunken that fish lay lifeless on the parched sand
and gravel of its bed. But this past summer, I saw something I had never seen before, though I know
that if I had been sufficiently observant in other abnormally dry years, I am sure I could not have
failed to notice the same thing earlier.

2 One morning last April, in company with a student friend and my elder son, I started out for the hill to
spend the day by the rapids and cascades at a place called Intongasan. We followed the course of the
river. After we had walked a kilometer or more, I saw that the river had disappeared and its bed was
dry. I looked around in wonder because passed our little country house below and out toward the sea
half a mile or so farther down, the river was flowing clear and steady in its usual summer volume and
depth. But where we stood at the moment, there was no water to be seen. All about us the wide river
bed was hot and dry.

3 We pursued our way on toward the hills, however, and walking another kilometer we saw the stream
again, though it had spread itself so thin that it was lost at the edge of the waterless stretch of burning
sand and stones. And yet, continuing our way into the hills, we found the river grow deeper and
stronger than it was as it passed by our cottage.

4 To most people, I suppose, there is nothing strange or significant in this. Perhaps, they have seen such
a phenomenon more than once before. To me, however, it was a new experience and it impressed me
like all new experiences. To me, it was not merely strange, it suggested a spiritual truth.

5 Flowing down from its cradle in the mountains just as it left the last foothills, the river had checked by
the long, forbidding stretch of scorching sand. I had read of other streams that upon encountering
similar obstacles irretrievably lost themselves in sand or mud. But Bacong – because that is the name
of our river – determined to reach the sea, tunneled its way, so to speak, under its sandy bed of course
choosing the harder and lower stratum beneath, until at last it appeared again, limpid and steady in its
march to the sea.

6 And then I thought of human life. I was reminded of many a life that stopped short of its great end
just because it lacked the power of will to push through hindrances.

7 But I thought most of those who, like our river, met with almost insurmountable obstacles but
undismayed continued their march, buried in obscurity perhaps but resolutely pushing their way to the
sea, to their life’s goal. I thought of men like Galileo, who continued his work long after his sight had
failed; of Beethoven, who composed his noblest and sublimest symphonies when he could no longer
hear a single note; of Stevenson, who produced some of his greatest work after he was doomed to die
of tuberculosis; and of Cecil Rhodes, who was sent to Africa to die of an incurable disease, but before
he obeyed the summons carved out an Empire in the Dark Continent. These resolute and sublime
souls all reminded me of what our river taught me – that if we cannot overcome obstacles, we can
undercome them.

8 Another lesson I learned from Bacong is found in the fact that the river was not merely determined to
flow just anywhere; it was determined to reach the sea, to reach the great end. Many streams manage
to surmount barriers they meet along the way, but they come out of obstacles after much labor only to
end in a foul and stagnant marsh or lake. How like so many human lives! How like so many people
who, in the springtime of their youth and in the summer of their early manhood showed splendid
heroism against frowning odds, determined to overcome those hostile barriers, only in the autumn of
their lives to end in defeat, disgrace and remorse.

9 On the other hand, think of other lives that, like our river, kept their way even to the end of their
course.

10 I believe it was on our way back from the hills that the lesson of faithfulness in the performance of
one’s duty was forcefully suggested to me. The truth occurred to me that nature often fulfills her duty
more faithfully than man does his.

11 And what is the duty of the river? It is to furnish safe running water for plant and fish and fowl and
for man and beast. The river is not there just to flow on and enjoy itself. The river must play its part
in the processes of nature; to live, in other words, for the rest of creation.
12 And so it should be in the life of man. It is not to be lived unto itself alone for its own joy and
satisfaction but for others in glad and devoted ministry. How much life and beauty and goodness,
indeed would perish from the world if man and nature would fail in their duty! If our river had not
remained faithful to its duty, instead of a landscape picturesque with the varied green of the foliage of
shrubs and trees and gay with the voices of the birds singing and calling to one another in the branches
that April morning, there would have been spread before us a wide expanse of desolate and lifeless
land, fit only for the wanderings of Cain.

13 For part of the ministering duty of a river is to flow on and on, otherwise, it will be foul and unfit for
use. There is music in running water. Bacong, by continuing its march to the sea, kept itself fit for the
service of nature and man; and not only that, it expanded its field of usefulness.

14 And does this not suggest that the river of man’s life should be likewise? For if in the face of
obstacles it lacks the strength of will to continue keeping itself fit to serve and seeking new
opportunities for service, it will ultimately become useless to others.

15 As I marveled at the power of Bacong to push its way through such a seemingly impassable barrier, I
discerned the secret – a secret that has a message for all of us. For Bacong was able to carry on, to
continue its watery pilgrimage and reach the immensity and sublimity of the sea, only because its
source is the vast and lofty mountains. Unless a stream draws its power from a source of sufficient
height and magnitude, it cannot do as our river did this summer. It will not have the strength to cut its
way through great obstacles and reach the sea at last. Here is one of the marvelous secrets of life and
how many have missed it! Verily, if a man derives his strength and inspiration from a low and feeble
source, he will fail to “arrive.” Unless a man draws its power from some source of heavenly altitude,
unless the stream of his life issues from a never-failing source, unless, in other words, his soul is fed
from heights of infinite power, he may well fear that he will not reach the sea. But if his spirit is
impelled and nourished by an inexhaustible power from on high, he will, in spite of all obstructions,
finish his course, if not in the glory of dazzling achievement, at least in the nobility of a completed
task faithfully done.