A New Landmark - You are LOVED!
“A River Is Wide…” — A Conversation with Margaret Silf’s Landmarks
We had a Quiet Day Retreat in church on a public holiday. Nothing dramatic. Nothing spectacular. Yet, like Margaret Silf describes in Landmarks, through an exercise given to us, I found myself standing on the bank of a river, gazing across waters so wide that I could not see the other side.
I know now that God is leading me into new territory.
As I looked around during the guided session, I saw the young faces in our midst. Some familiar, some quietly present, some perhaps merely attending without quite knowing why. Unexpectedly, after my reflection time, I found myself drawn to the altar. Kneeling in the sanctuary, I began naming them one by one before the Lord. There was no grand agenda, only a deep gratitude that they had come and a burden to pray for them.
Margaret Silf writes that when we stand before a river whose far shore is hidden, we are invited to trust the One who sees beyond our horizon. I realise I do not know what God intends for these young people, nor can I see what lies ahead for me. Yet perhaps intercession itself is part of standing faithfully on this shore.
Something new is being conceived.
Birthing requires conception first. Nothing comes into being unless it first originates in the heart of God. During my last spiritual direction session, I became aware that my resistance has begun to soften. I have not surrendered easily. Like Moses, I have argued, hesitated, and counted the cost.
Yet the Lord, knowing my fears and frailties, seemed almost to smile at my protests. In His gentleness, He relented, not by removing the labour, but by promising what I jokingly called an "epidural" for the pain that lies ahead.
I remember giving birth to my firstborn with the innocent assumption that it could not be that painful. When the contractions became unbearable and the epidural was finally administered, I literally felt as though I had entered heaven! It was such a relief.
By the time I was expecting my second daughter, I knew better. This time, the epidural was administered right from the beginning. What could have been an anxious experience became, surprisingly, a joyful and almost enjoyable one. I still had to go through labour. I still had to give birth. But I did not have to endure the pain in the same way.
So this image of an epidural is not merely a metaphor. It is a felt experience.
And perhaps that is what the Lord was saying to me.
Not that there would be no labour ahead.
Not that the journey would be effortless.
But that His grace would be given beforehand.
The promise was not that there would be no suffering, but that I would not bear it alone.
Silf observes that landmarks are often recognised only in hindsight. Perhaps this season of resistance itself has been a landmark. Perhaps the slow wearing away of my defences is God's quiet preparation for crossing into deeper waters.
At the end of the day, as I stood at the back of the chapel, my eyes were drawn to a clock. Beneath it was a simple phrase:
You are loved.
It felt less like a decoration and more like a word.
As the hands of the clock silently marked the passing of time, another reality pressed gently upon my heart. Beyond all our ministries and programmes, beyond our hopes and anxieties for the future, perhaps this is what the Father longs for His children to know:
You are loved.
Young and old.
Certain and questioning.
Faithful and wandering.
Strong and weary.
Not because we have earned it.
Not because we understand it.
But because His love precedes us.
And perhaps this is the new territory to which the Lord is leading me. Not first to do more, but to become a witness to this truth and to help those we pastor discover it for themselves.
Standing by the river, unable to see the far shore, I find myself less concerned with where it leads.
Because the words beneath the clock have become, in a sense, another landmark.
Not a bridge.
Not a map.
Not an answer.
Just a reminder.
You are loved.
And maybe that is enough for today.
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”
— Isaiah 43:19
“I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.”
— Jeremiah 31:3
Perhaps, as Margaret Silf might say, the river remains wide, and the far bank unseen. But the Voice that calls from beyond the horizon is neither demanding nor impatient.
“Cross when you are ready.
And remember, before you do anything for Me, know that you are loved.”
A Prayer
Lord, You see beyond the horizon when I cannot.
Thank You for Your patience with my resistance and for Your gentleness with my fears. Thank You that You do not call me to cross the river alone, but promise Your grace before I even step into the waters.
Teach me to trust Your timing and Your leading. Help me to remember that before all ministry, before all service, before all striving, I am first Your beloved child.
And as I stand on this shore, unable to see the far bank, may I rest in the assurance that Your everlasting love goes before me.
Amen.
Where in your life do you find yourself standing before a river whose far shore you cannot yet see?
What resistance in you might God be gently softening?
And what if, before giving you a map or an answer, He simply wants you to hear again:
You are loved.
“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.”
— Isaiah 43:2
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