The Spirit of a river runs through this place and its people.
A river divides one side from another
compelling us to build bridges.
Walking across the bridge,
Looking down at the river flow.
Histories and futures are connected.
My life comes not from me.
It flows through me and goes downstream.
I must care for this river, this life
As it surges through me.
Sometimes I am so full that my banks overflow.
Sometimes I am dry,
Exposing the driftwood that failed to drift.
Stuck in the mud of my existence.
The river lives by what we put into it
Wabash means water over white stone.
White stones long covered by the silt from our cornfields.
For we live by what we take from the river.
Caring for the river is caring for ourselves.
This river runs through us.
Into a future uncertain.
How we give and how we take.
Is how we make our legacy
— Rev. Charlie