There are moments that stay with us long after the days they belonged to. You don’t always know when you’re in one. There’s no announcement, no blinking sign that says, “Hey, this is it. This is going to be one of the best memories you’ll ever have.”
Sometimes you only realize it in a small cafe years later, when a photograph on the wall catches your eye and suddenly you’re right back there.
Back to the river.
In 2022, my husband and I had just bought the car I’d been dreaming of for years. Just a few days later, my daughter, one of my dearest friends, and I loaded it up and pointed it toward the mountains. We drove 18 hours to North Carolina, chasing music, connection, and a break from the everyday weight of life.
The music festival was joy in its purest form. Laughter echoing in tents. Music ringing in our ears. Pure joy and acceptance radiating from everyone there. Some of my favorite artists playing music that felt like a salve for my soul. Everything just clicked. Those four days were some of the happiest I can remember—not for grand gestures, but because of how deeply content we all were.
After it ended, we chose to drive a portion of the Blue Ridge Parkway before heading home, because when you’re already in the mountains, especially in a rally car, how do you not?
Somewhere along that route, a massive elk crossed our path. My heart nearly stopped. We swerved to avoid it, and though everyone was fine (and the car thankfully untouched), our adrenaline was high. We pulled off onto a quiet turnout to collect ourselves.
And that’s where we found the stream.
It wasn’t a planned stop. There was no sign pointing to it. Just this little stretch of water winding through golden trees, dappled light dancing over smooth stones. My daughter jumped out and started collecting rocks. She slipped and fell in trying to get to a rock along the way, and her brand new shoes got soaked. I took a few photos, not knowing it would become one of my favorite scenes I’d ever captured.
We laughed. We breathed. We didn’t rush.
We were in the middle of something special, but we didn’t know it then.
And that’s the thing, isn’t it?
Sometimes the sacred slips in quietly.
Years later, after volunteering with Samaritan’s Purse in the same part of North Carolina, helping clean up the aftermath of Hurricane Helene, my husband, youngest son and I stopped in a local cafe. The walls were covered in photos by local artists. And there it was.
That river. That same bend. Framed. Remembered.
I stared at it for a long time. I could almost hear the water again. Could see the shock on my daughter’s face as the cold hit her toes. Could remember the calm after the adrenaline.
I didn’t know it at the time, but we had stumbled into a memory that would be a bright spot in darker seasons. A reminder of joy.
The Bible has a lot to say about remembering.
“I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.” —Psalm 77:11
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” —Ecclesiastes 3:11
That river reminds me to pause and see what God is doing right now.
To stop racing through life assuming joy is something I’ll get to after the next thing. Sometimes the joy is in the detour. Sometimes the sacred is in the spot with no sign. Sometimes the miracle is just that we paused long enough to feel it.
It’s easy to forget how fleeting everything is. We get consumed by checklists and worry. But the days we long for most aren’t always the ones we plan—they’re the ones we let happen.
The moments where we:
- Laugh with no agenda.
- Cry without shame.
- Soak our shoes in a cold stream without worrying what time it is.
And those are the moments that carry us when the floodwaters rise—literally or metaphorically.
I think that’s why that photo struck me so deeply in the cafe. After all we’d seen in the hurricane aftermath—the destruction, the chaos, the pain—there was this sliver of beauty. Of memory. Of peace.
A still frame of a time when all was well.
And a reminder that it can be again.
If you’re in a hard season today, I want to encourage you to remember the river. Remember the little moments. The ones that maybe felt ordinary, but are now etched into your soul.
And if today isn’t hard? Then soak it in. Slow down. Let your shoes get wet. Look around and see the goodness of God.
Because one day, this might be the moment you look back on and say:
“That was one of the best days. And I didn’t even know it.”
