The road from church followed the river for nearly a mile before turning back toward the ranch. Jake drove the buckboard easy, the horses knowing the way as well as he did. Colt sat beside him, hat tipped low against the afternoon sun, while Mary rode in back with a basket she had packed that morning—cold chicken, biscuits, cookies, and a small jar of preserves wrapped in cloth.
“Let’s stop right there a spell,” Mary said, nodding toward a stand of trees near the bend. “The rapids’ll be loud today.”
Jake smiled. “One of the best sermon halls in the county.”
Jake and Colt watered and hobbled the horses to let them graze then walked down to the perfect picnic spot that Mary had chosen near smooth rocks and rushing water. Spring melt had swollen the river, and the rapids churned white and strong, tumbling over the stones with a steady roar.
Colt broke the silence. “That water don’t argue,” he said. “Just keeps movin’ the way it was made to move.”
Jake nodded. “And it don’t care about stories folks tell about it either.” Mary laughed softly. “What brought that on?”
“Preacher Kendall this mornin’,” Colt said. “Talked about trainin’ for godliness. Said folks can get mighty busy arguin’ about things that don’t help anyone live better.”
Mary poured coffee from a small tin pot she had warmed over the small fire she had made. “He said somethin’ like that last month too. Compared it to folks gossipin’ on the porch instead of mendin’ what’s broke at home.”
Jake picked up a smooth stone and rolled it in his palm. He said, “Paul told Timothy not to get tangled up in silly talk and empty stories. Said it pulls a man off the trail.”
Colt watched the rapids closely. “That water’s trained, in a way. Worn rocks and channels one day at a time. Didn’t happen all at once.”
Mary looked from the river to the men. “You’re sayin’ godliness works the same way.”
Jake tossed a stone gently into the current. It disappeared at once. “You don’t wake up godly any more than this river woke up deep. Takes time. Practice. Choosing the right thing when no one’s watchin’.”
Colt leaned back on his elbows. “Funny thing is, a body can work hard and still be mean as a rattler. But train the heart right, and the hands follow.”
Mary smiled. “That’s the part I liked best today. Godliness helps now, not just later. Makes a home kinder. Makes work honest. Makes people easier to live with.”
They ate quietly for a few minutes, the sound of water filling every pause. A hawk circled overhead, riding the wind without effort.
Jake spoke again, slower this time. “There’s a lot of talk out there that sounds interestin’ but don’t lead nowhere. Paul called it vain. Looks important, but it don’t feed the soul.”
Colt nodded. “Like chasin’ legends instead of learnin’ how to love your neighbor.”
Mary folded the cloth around the empty basket. “Jesus didn’t tell stories to confuse folks. He told ‘em so people would know how to live.”
The river surged against the rocks, strong and sure, never stopping to explain itself.
Jake stood and brushed the dust from his trousers. “I reckon that’s our lesson from the rapids for the day. Keep trainin’ in what lasts. Let the rest wash on by.”
They gathered their things and rode back toward the road, the rapids still roaring behind them: steady, faithful, and unmoved by foolish talk.
And as they went, each carried the same quiet resolve: to follow Jesus, practice godliness and live a faith that shaped the present as surely as it promised a new life to come.
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