The River Book

So, as we passed the “Green Tanks” I wanted to stop at “Ho Chi Minh” to look at the trash and debris left by the night crossers. This is a frequented crossing area due to the relatively short span across the river. I get off the 22-foot Mayak and start up the trail noticing all the clothes, shoes, wrist bands and other various debris left behind. Before making my way back to the boat I stop for a minute to take in the striking contrast of colors of the trash against the lush green vegetation. I also feel a sense of amazement at the relentlessness and commitment these families must have to make such a trek. The intense burden of just surviving moment to moment to make a better life on the north shore of the river in of itself is a miracle of sorts. As I gather my thoughts and turn, I look down and it catches my eye. I stare at this book just lying there in the cold mud. It is a book I have read and carried in my left breast pocket for seven years when I was in the Army.

I knelt down on the cold ground and picked it up. As I flipped through it, I wondered who it belonged to and if they knew they had lost it in the rush to change into warmer clothes. It didn’t seem right leaving it there so I wiped it off as best I could and put it in my left cargo pocket.

Later that day I took out of my pocket and looked at it. Although my daughter is in possession of it these days the book was exactly like the one, I still had at the house all these years later. When I was in the Army, I would read it and mark the passages that I felt an attachment to as I waited on tarmacs around the world. It traveled the world with me, jumped out of airplanes and helicopters with me and comforted me no matter where I found myself in the world, both literally and figuratively. It is an ancient script and a contemporary text all in one and if you stop and listen for a moment it will speak to you. In your own unique way.

Despite the idiom it’s the same book countless carry every Sunday into their churches and book studies. It’s the same message of compassion and kindness, same ideas of charity and the same authors. The only difference is the “words” of this version are in Spanish.

I have had this “river book” for over a year. I still wonder who its original owner was. I wonder was it a gift from a relative or friend for a safe journey? What comfort did it offer? What hope did it provide? How many miles did it travel? If only it could tell stories…oh but it does. I will never know the answers to any of these questions. I can only hope that the previous caretaker of this book is well and is finding his or her path toward their peace, serenity and safety. In retrospect, I think that it was no accident finding this book, but rather a glimpse of the humanity that has crossed that river for over a millennium. And to me, a reminder that we are not as different as we’ve been told.

Be safe, be human…