Keep Your Feet in the River
It will lead to the Source.
I’ve always loved the river.
I have come to understand it as my thinnest place. The spot where heaven feels especially close. Where the line between sacred and ordinary seems to blur, and God feels not just near, but familiar. Known.
This morning, I felt a pull I couldn’t ignore. A quiet nudge to come. To sit, to be, to dwell by the water. Not to pray anything specific or produce a certain outcome. A call just to be present. To place my feet in the icy current and notice.
The moment I did, it was as if the river began to whisper.
Not out loud, but inwardly. Whispering the kind of truth you don’t fully realize you need until it meets you.
You love it here because you admire this kind of worship.
On the river’s best days and especially on its worst, it keeps moving…
in worship of Me.
Keep your feet in the river.
I sat with those words. Let them rush through me like the water.
The more I sat, the more I understood.
The river worships not by sound but by motion.
Not with grand gestures, but with quiet steady obedience.
Not only when the sun shines, but in every season.
And I paused, reflecting that I want to worship like that too.
Not just on mountaintops or Sundays, but in the ongoing, unglamorous, faithful middle. In the wake-up-and-seek-Him-again mornings. In the unseen choices. The private surrender. The forward movement when no one is watching.
That’s the kind of worship that pleases the Lord.
Steady. Persistent. Forward-flowing.
There’s a reason the psalmist says, “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.” Worship isn’t a song, it’s a posture. A way of existing. A river doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it barely murmurs over the rocks. But it’s always flowing. Always moving toward the Source from which it came.
So often, we think we need to feel something in order to be worshiping. We wait for the mood, for the music, for the breakthrough. But maybe real worship isn’t about waiting to feel anything. Maybe it’s about choosing to flow anyway.
Like the river.
There’s beauty in the rhythm. In showing up. In moving forward in faith, not because we feel Him, but because we know Him.
And He is always near.
That’s the part I almost missed: the constancy of the river is only part of the picture. The deeper miracle is that God is just as constant. His presence doesn’t waver. He is not near one day and far the next. He abides. He remains.
The river reminds me of this. That worship isn’t just about my response, it’s also about His reliability.
I don’t have to strive for His presence. I just have to notice it. Align with it. Stay in it.
Keep my feet in the River.
I once read that a river, no matter how winding or narrow, always knows its way to the sea. There’s something reassuring about that. That even when the path looks uncertain or slow or small, the destination is secure. That’s how it feels to walk with God. To worship Him fully. We may not always see how He’s working. But we keep flowing. Because He is worthy. Because He is steady. Because He is near.
I want my life to echo that kind of worship.
Let it be said of me when my life is just a memory, not that I sang the loudest, or produced anything of value. But let it be my testimony that I kept moving toward Him. That I stayed in the flow. That I chose Him again and again, not because I had to, but because I couldn’t help myself or choose to do anything else.
The river doesn’t need to be told where to go.
It just flows.
And that is its worship.
So today, I’m keeping my feet in the river.
Not because I’m lost or even weary, but because I want to remain aligned with the One I love.
To let the rhythm of His nearness guide the rhythm of my life.
To worship not just with words, but with movement.
To stay steady.
To stay close.
To stay in the flow.
Let it be true of me, Lord.
Steady. Persistent. Forward-flowing worship.
Because my story matters, right where I am. He is leading me to the Source that higher than anything I could find here. The River is flowing in me and through me. It is all To Be Continued.
With hope,
Victoria
