Lesson In THe Receiving Place: The Bridge Was Already There

I've come to recognize that my mornings are my receiving place.

It's that sacred space between waking and the responsibilities of the day, where my mind is quiet enough to hear what my spirit has been trying to tell me.

I've learned not to rush through those moments.

Sometimes the lesson comes through meditation.

Sometimes it comes through a conversation.

Sometimes it comes through nature.

And sometimes, if I'm paying attention, it all comes together.

This morning began with a text message from my cousin.

She sent me a video standing in a field of blooming sunflowers.

Beautiful sunflowers.

But that wasn't what moved me.

What moved me was where she was standing.

Her feet were planted on the same land where our grandfather, grandmother, great-grandparents, and generations before them lived, worked, sacrificed, and dreamed.

The very ground that helped shape our family.

Just yesterday, she had sent me another picture—this time standing on that same land with her grandchild.

Three generations.

One piece of earth.

I sat with that for a while.

What a gift.

To stand on land that someone else prepared long before you were ever born.

My cousins and I often dream about returning there one day.

We talk about retirement differently than most people.

We don't just talk about slowing down.

We talk about building.

My cousin is a master gardener. I'm an event designer.

We've dreamed about creating a flower farm.

A venue.

A place where beauty, celebration, family, and legacy all meet.

What a full-circle moment that would be.

Not starting something new...

But continuing something that began generations ago.

Our ancestors couldn't possibly have known what our lives would look like.

They didn't know our names.

They didn't know our careers.

But they worked anyway.

They planted anyway.

They sacrificed anyway.

Because somewhere in their hearts they believed someone would come after them.

Today...

That someone is us.

That realization filled me with overwhelming gratitude.

It reminded me that before I ever had a dream...

Someone had already prepared the ground.

Later that morning, I went on my usual walk.

By now, you probably know this trail has become my classroom.

There's a large rock in the middle of the stream where I often sit in silence.

Today, something caught my attention that I've walked past dozens of times before.

A bridge.

Not because it had suddenly appeared.

It had always been there.

I had simply never really seen it.

The morning sun peeked through the trees, casting light across the bridge.

And almost immediately, I heard my mother's voice in my heart.

"A bridge over troubled water."

I smiled.

Then I started thinking about the purpose of a bridge.

A bridge connects.

A bridge provides access.

A bridge creates safety.

A bridge makes it possible to reach places that would otherwise be impossible.

And perhaps most importantly...

A bridge allows you to cross over things that were never meant to hold you.

I thought about my own life.

I've crossed troubled waters.

I've walked through seasons filled with disappointment, uncertainty, loss, and consequences.

There were moments when the waters beneath me felt violent.

Rocky.

Unforgiving.

But today I realized something I had never considered before.

While I was focused on the water...

God had already built the bridge.

The bridge didn't appear the moment I needed it.

It was already there.

Waiting.

Just like the land my ancestors prepared.

Just like the dreams planted generations before I was born.

Just like the opportunities that have unfolded in my life.

How many bridges has God already built that I simply haven't noticed yet?

Maybe that's faith.

Trusting that even when the waters look impossible...

There is already a way across.

Today reminded me that I don't have to build every bridge myself.

Some bridges were built by my ancestors.

Some were built by people who prayed for me before I existed.

Some were built by my family.

Some by mentors.

Some by strangers whose names I'll never know.

And some...

Were built by God Himself.

So today, I walked a little slower.

I looked a little closer.

And I left the trail grateful—not just for the bridges I have crossed, but for the ones that were already waiting for me long before I knew I would need them.

Aṣẹ.