As you all may know, Sarah and I lived and served for nearly a decade at Camp Maranatha in the San Jacinto Mountains of Southern California. During late summer when the San Jacinto Mountains become a dry, brittle and thirsty place, and the dust along the walkways becomes as fine as baby powder there was always one place there at the camp that always remained green and lush. Down in a gully behind the camp’s office a thin trickle of water flowed through a jungle of willow, nettles and wild rose. The plants crowded and overhung its banks, and their thirsty roots sank down into the moist soil to draw off the life-giving water. Naturally, animals were drawn to the place too. Deer, coyotes, bobcats, and raccoons as well as smaller creatures like quail, rabbits, ground squirrels and chipmunks frequented the shady arbor that hid the life-giving stream. The evidence of their comings and goings were pressed into the soft mud along the bank, and occasionally as I walked the rim of the gully I would catch glimpses of these animals through the layered leaves. The gully behind the office was always full of life, and at the heart of it all was the thin trickle of water, which flowed down into Strawberry Creek, which, in turn, flowed into the North Fork of the San Jacinto River, which flowed out into Lake Elsinore, which flowed out into Temescal Creek, which flowed out into the Santa Ana River, which emptied into the Pacific Ocean whose waters stretched out and joined the other great oceans in circling the globe.