Water under the bridge Have you ever heard the expression, “It’s water under the bridge”?
I don’t know where this expression originated, . but years ago an Ohio newspaper editor wrote an editorial that may be the answer. Grove Patterson, the editor, certainly could paint with words. The editorial was titled, ‘Water Under the Bridge.’
“A boy a long time ago leaned against the railing of a bridge and watched the current of the river below. A log, a bit of driftwood, a chip floated past. Again the surface of the river was smooth. But always, as it had for a hundred perhaps a thousand, perhaps even a million years, the water slipped by under the bridge. Watching the river that day, the boy made a discovery. Quite suddenly, and yet quietly, he knew that everything in his life would some day pass under the bridge and be gone like the water. The boy came to like those words: “water under the bridge.” All his life thereafter the idea served him well and carried him through. Although there were days and ways that were dark and not easy, always when he had made a mistake that couldn’t be helped, or lost something that could never come again, the boy, now a man, said, “It’s water under the bridge.” “It’s water under the bridge.” I’ll try again.
– fine writing by Grove Patterson in the Toledo Blade
And another version with some more deep thoughts…
Water under the bridge Have you ever heard the expression, “It’s water under the bridge”? I don’t know where this expression originated, . but years ago an Ohio newspaper editor wrote an editorial that may be the answer. Grove Patterson, the editor, certainly could paint with words. The editorial was titled, ‘Water Under the Bridge’.
“A boy a long time ago leaned against the railing of a bridge and watched the current of the river below. A log, a bit of driftwood, a chip floated past. Again the surface of the river was smooth. But always, as it had for a hundred, perhaps a thousand, perhaps even a million years, the water slipped by under the bridge. Sometimes the current went more swiftly and again quite slowly, but always the river flowed on under the bridge. “Watching the river that day, the boy made a discovery. It was not the discovery of a material thing, something he might put his hand upon. He could not even see it. He had discovered an idea. Quite suddenly, and yet quietly, he knew that everything in his life would some day pass under the bridge and be gone like the water. “The boy came to like those words, ‘water under the bridge.’ All his life thereafter the idea served him well and carried him through. Although there were days and ways that were dark and not easy, always when he had made a mistake that couldn’t be helped, or lost something that could never come again, the boy, now a man, said, ‘It’s water under the bridge.’ “And he didn’t worry unduly about his mistakes after that and he certainly didn’t let them get him down, because it was water under the bridge.” This young fellow discovered a great truth for himself. How many times have lives been smashed by a loss or mistake that the person wouldn’t let go? We all make mistakes. Some are more serious than others, but we have all walked that road. All of us suffer losses. Both are as certain as tomorrow’s dawn. The question becomes not “if” these things will happen in our lives, but “when.” Mistakes, as the boy came to realize, are best let pass with the water under the bridge. We should learn from them, but not brood over them. After a mistake is made, the important thing is not what has happened,’but how we let that mistake influence our future actions. As far as a loss is concerned, this may be a little more difficult to let go, but that’s exactly what’s required of us.
The best advice I ever heard about how to handle a serious loss came from a mother who had just lost one of her children after a long illness. She was deeply grieved. Yet, she had a spirit about her that was remarkable under the circumstances. I asked her about it. “1 loved my son very much,” she said. “But I know that God loves him too. God gave him to me, but he wasn’t mine alone. He really belonged to God. “I believe in God and his love. When my son died, I gave him back to God knowing that he is a great and kind father who holds my son firmly in his love. “It helps a great deal to know that my son is now with a God who really loves him and cares what happens to him. Knowing this, I can let my son go.”
from Fairbanks Daily News-Miner 10 July 1971 and
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