These depressions in a pond’s sandy bottom are referred to as “bowers.” Male fish build them for the purpose of attracting females for spawning. They fill their mouths with sand and blow it into piles, then skim along nudging the sides into perfectly round arenas for business. When another male swims through to admire or perhaps claim the spot as his own, the builder drives him away at once, then returns to his work. Ordinarily the fish is just a fish, his mouth pulling in water, his gills swirling it out, but for this most extraordinary work, the fish becomes a sculptor.
Once I came to know Jesus, my days were no longer for swimming along with the current, nosing around satisfying desires, scurrying away from harm. When these are the essence of my hours, my work is denied. But the deliberate devotion of Jesus is the continual creation of a sacred space, a holy awareness, a humbling of my will. When I enter that bower, that hushing arbor of fertile ground, my spirit is moved and lead not by environment, but magnificence.
I get some satisfaction from those merely active days when things and experiences whiz by my eyes and pass through my hands with a lively pace but if there is no passion for God in it, the work eventually flattens into drill. God can work in all things, in shallows and depths, calm waters and rough, but my swimmy spirit demands intention. I need to create a space for Him in my moments to focus on His great work.
The king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength. Psalm 33:6
Meeting God at the Park 