Gutter Streams

(Joe Lamos)

When I was little, I lived in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It was there I learned so many primary songs in church; one of my favorites was "Give Said the Little Stream." But living in a city I didn't see many little streams. I had the great rivers of Pittsburgh. And I had what I thought were little streams, what the song was talking about: the water flowing through the gutter down the steep, tall hill we lived on.

I remembered my silly 4-year-old self with a smile just a few minutes ago. After stepping in a puddle that was deeper than I thought it was, I listened to the resting storm around me. Instead I heard the trickle of water flowing into the storm drain. Give, said the little stream.

This is what I have to give. My testimony. My words. Which is so meager after what God has given me. The past 21 years of wonderful. My family and friends. My life. This world. This gorgeous red-orange-gold sunset in the northwest. Beautiful dark blue gray clouds in the south and a hot pink sky in the north east. And all at the same time, with lightening all over the sky striking the mountains and illuminating the mist covering Timp. To complete it all, dinosaurs lovingly growling at each other, thundering.

Words just don't do it justice. But the stream, the water trembling and tinkling in the gutter, just might. Give. Or perhaps, instead, Gift.