Whether in torrents or gentle spray,
most of the rain that from heaven falls
on majestic sandstone canyon walls
to the valley floor fast finds it way.

Thus the noble rocks unselfish give.
When blessed, they think of others first
and quench the verdant valley’s thirst,
so its wealth of plants and trees might live.

The valley blooms while the cliffs stay bare.
The canyon walls hold back just enough
to water the plants and trees that tough
it out in cracks and crevices there.

These plants that cling to the canyon wall
differ from those growing by the streams;
they lack the traits that abundance brings.
They are not as lush, not near as tall.

Then why—we wonder—in times of drought,
when the skies hold back their gift of life,
does the valley wilt from stress and strife
while the plants up high stay green and stout?

And why—we ask—do they seem to thrive
when below the valley streams run dry,
and the plants they feed turn brown or die?
How do the plants on the cliffs survive?

The answer is found down deep inside
the spaces microscopically small
between the grains of the sandstone wall
where tiny water molecules hide

and slowly move through the massive stone
downward and outward to special sites
where the plants that cling to the lofty heights
have taken root and stubbornly grown.

It matters not that the heavens pause.
There is ample moisture locked below
to supply the springs that unhurried flow
in strict obedience to natural laws.

Thus the canyon storms of years long gone
are the fount that gives its strength today.
It matters not that the rains delay;
the stores are full and the springs flow on.

Those who have ears to hear, let them hear
the lesson taught by the canyon wall.
Give place to the Spirit’s gentle call,
for the times of drought are ever near.

Fill every void in your heart and mind,
then share the grace God so freely gave
when He sent His Son our souls to save,
and leave the things of the world behind.

“For whosoever,” the Savior said,
“shall drink the water I provide
and store its peace and power inside
has living water and living bread.

Come, follow me. Put my kingdom first.
The strength from my Spirit’s constant flow
is the endless fountain that lets you grow.
Come, drink of me and never thirst.”

I’m one of nature’s greatest fans. I love the outdoors and the lessons they teach me. My two favorite National Parks are Zion and Capitol Reef. I remember how absolutely awed I was when I visited Zion National Park for the first time. Not only did the monumental scale of the canyon walls impress me, but also the smaller details that I discovered in my wanderings. One place in particular, a site called Weeping Rock, caught my prolonged attention. As is still our family’s custom when we are in a national park, I was listening on the same day I’d visited the site to an evening presentation, and I marveled when the park ranger told us that the water that we saw falling that day from the face of Weeping Rock was rain that had fallen high above possibly as long as two-hundred years before. As I have hiked the canyons of Southern Utah, I have discovered similar microenvironments where plants thrive—or at least survive—in spite of the general aridness of the climate that surrounds them. In the canyons of Capitol Reef, for example, there are rare places where single plants seem to grow out of the canyon walls themselves. At closer inspection through binoculars, it’s usually a small shelf or crevice that harbors the plant. How do the plants survive? My experience in Zion gave me the answer, and since every object from nature’s collection holds a lesson for me, it didn’t take me long to uncover the metaphor.