“The name of the third river is the Tigris. It flows east of Assyria.” Genesis 2:14

There is something different about the third river flowing out of Eden. The Pishon invited us to pay attention to the treasures God has placed along the way. The Gihon reminded us that sometimes the work of God bursts forth in places we would never expect. And then we come to the Tigris. The river that moves.

In Genesis 2:14, the third river is called Hiddekel. The ancient biblical name for what we know as the Tigris. Some translations retain the name Hiddekel, while others simply call it the Tigris. It is a small detail that would be easy to pass over. Hiddekel has historically been associated with the idea of something swift, sharp, or rapidly moving. And even in the language Genesis uses to describe this river, there is movement: it is the river that goes, the river that continues forward.

It does not remain in Eden. It flows from it. The presence of God was never meant to make us stagnant. It sends us forward. 

There Is a Difference Between Movement and Hurry.
Many of us know how to move.
Our calendars move.
Our ministries move.
Our families move.
Our responsibilities move.

The emails keep coming. The needs continue. The next trip approaches. Another person needs care. Another decision has to be made. Another problem appears before we have finished resolving the previous one. We can become very good at motion without necessarily knowing whether we are moving with God. But the river coming from Eden offers another picture.

The Tigris does not manufacture its own water. It receives what flows from the source. Before there was movement, there was Eden. Before there was a river running across the earth, there was a river coming from the place where humanity dwelled with God. That order matters.

​Presence precedes movement. We were never asked to generate enough strength, passion, wisdom, or endurance to sustain the calling God has given us. We were invited to remain near the Source and allow what begins with Him to move through us.

There is a kind of movement that comes from striving. And there is another kind that comes from surrender. One says, I have to keep this going. The other says, God is already moving. I want to go where He is going.

Hiddekel: The River That Goes
There are seasons when God seems to invite us to stay.
To wait.
To heal.
To listen.
To allow our roots to grow deep.
But eventually, rivers move.

Perhaps some of us have remained beside places God once asked us to inhabit because they became familiar.
A ministry.
A role.
A relationship.
A strategy.
A season.
Even a version of ourselves.

We can become so grateful for what God did in one place that we hesitate when He begins leading us toward another. But faithfulness does not always mean remaining. Sometimes faithfulness looks like movement. Abraham had to go. Israel had to leave Egypt. The priests carrying the ark had to step into the Jordan before the waters parted. The disciples had to leave Jerusalem and carry the gospel outward. Again and again Scripture tells the story of a God whose presence does not simply comfort His people where they are. His presence leads them somewhere. And perhaps that is one of the gifts of Hiddekel. It reminds us that we do not have to be afraid of forward movement when the river still traces back to Eden. If the Source is God, we can trust Him with where the river goes.

The Tigris appears again much later in Scripture. In Daniel 10, Daniel tells us: “On the twenty-fourth day of the first month, as I was standing on the bank of the great river, the Tigris…” The Hebrew text again calls it Hiddekel. The river from Eden has appeared again. But Daniel is certainly not standing in Eden. He is living in exile. He has been grieving. He has spent weeks mourning and seeking God. And there, beside Hiddekel, Daniel encounters the presence of God. I love that. Because sometimes we imagine the rivers of Eden only flowing through beautiful seasons. Seasons when everything feels whole. Clear. Fruitful. Alive. But Daniel meets God beside this same river in exile. The river has traveled a long way from the garden. And yet God is still there.

Maybe you have too.
Maybe this year has carried you somewhere you never imagined you would be.
Maybe ministry looks different.
Maybe your family looks different.
Maybe your capacity looks different.
Maybe you are carrying grief you did not have when this year began.
Maybe you have followed God faithfully and somehow still found yourself in a place that feels nothing like Eden.

Daniel reminds us: The God of Eden is also the God of exile. The river still runs here. God's presence has not disappeared simply because the scenery has changed.

Moving Without Seeing the Whole River
One of the hardest parts of following God is that we rarely get to see the entire course of the river. We see the stretch directly in front of us.We know the next conversation. The next assignment. The next act of obedience. The next difficult decision. We often want God to show us where the whole thing is going. Instead, He frequently gives us enough light for the next step. And perhaps that is what faithful movement looks like.

Written by Bekah Baxter

Our newest blog post comes from our teammate Beth, a member care provider whose love for contemplative practice, prayer and Scripture has been a quiet gift to our team and partners alike. In this post, Beth draws from Psalm 1 with the kind of insight that slows you down and invites you to breathe. 
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‘Oh, the joys of those who do not follow the advice of the wicked, or stand around with sinners, or join in with mockers.
But they delight in the law of the LORD, meditating on it day and night.
They are like trees planted along the riverbank, bearing fruit each season. Their leaves never wither, and they prosper in all they do.”
Psalm 1:1-2 (NLT)​

Psalm 1 has been a cornerstone of my formation as I’ve learned how to follow Jesus. Verse one has never failed to provide guidance in my decisions around choosing behaviors and choosing friends. It became our family’s banner Psalm. I wanted to be that tree in verse two. I connected the actions laid out in verse one to becoming strong, fruitful, and steadfast. The Lord has not failed me. As a first generation Jesus follower with a messed-up background, He has grown me in faith, fruitfulness and steadfastness.
​
Lately my spirit has been drawn to the phrase “planted by the riverbank.” I am certainly not a theologian, but I’ve wondered why the phrase is there. I always thought of the actions in verse one as the things I should focus on, and as an action-oriented person I have appreciated the to-do’s found there. I’m not minimizing their importance in spiritual formation. But what about that “planted by the riverbank”? As I have wondered about that phrase, I’ve become certain that it wasn’t randomly thrown in for artistic flair.

First, I have a question: who planted? Was the location of my planting intentional or random? I’ll leave this for theologians to arm wrestle over. All I know is that I am amazed at the kindness of God to have protected me from being uprooted when I was a seedling. Then, why the word “the” river, not “a” river? Again, I’m not qualified to say with certainty, but when I pondered this question Jesus reminded me that He is the source of living water. I believe that the river in this Psalm is the river of living water. John 7:38 records Jesus saying, “Anyone who believes in me may come and drink, for the scriptures declare 'rivers of living water will flow from his
heart'." Since the Psalmist notes that the tree is planted by “the river” not just “a river,” I believe that this is pointing to Jesus. He tells us that He is the living water that will permanently sustain us (John 4).

As I’ve meditated on this little phrase, another question arose. What was the psalmist’s intent in adding the “planted by the river” phrase? I’ve realized a certainty that has rattled my action-oriented self: that tree is thriving from a place of rest. It was planted by the river, and then it just stood there. Roots slowly and steadily growing towards the water drawing from its sustenance that allowed it to grow stronger over the years, enduring droughts and storms. The tree doesn’t strive, yet it has lush evergreen leaves and never fails to bear fruit. It bears witness to the glory of its Creator. All the while just soaking in the living water. Take a minute, imagine the picture of this tree in its strength and beauty. With strength drawn from the river’s living water it has become a refuge, providing food and shelter to other creatures.

Looking back over the past few years, I realize that I have been drawing from “the river” in my life with Jesus. I’ve begun to walk through scripture, drinking slowly and deeply, rather than a faster grab-and-go approach. I’m practicing being still in solitude and emptying my mind and heart of the swirling thoughts that crowd out my just being with Jesus. As I meditate on one small part of scripture (often from a Psalm), I breathe, rest, and make space for the Lord. In this posture, my prayers are short, but my listening is long. And I rest. You know the picture of John leaning to rest against his beloved Jesus during their last meal together? That’s how I want to be. Resting, listening, loving.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner. Thank you for the gift of living water that flows from Your heart. Help me to drink deeply, end my striving, and rest in your love. Help me to be at peace, holy Spirit of the living Christ, in this restless world. Amen.

​Written by Beth Bradley

The second river flowing out of Eden is called Gihon. The name Gihon comes from a verb that means to burst forth, to gush, to break out like a spring. It is not a quiet trickle. It is not a contained stream. It is water pressing outward with force. Water that cannot stay hidden beneath the surface. Water that breaks open the earth and rushes toward the places beyond the garden.

The same root is connected to imagery of birth, of sudden emergence, of life coming forth. Gihon carries the feeling of a spring breaking open, but also of a womb giving way to life.

This river reminds us that Eden was never meant to be static. From the very beginning, the life of God was always moving. The garden was not a closed-off sanctuary where humanity would hoard the presence of God. Eden was the beginning point, the headwaters, the holy place where divine life gathered, but from there, the waters flowed out.

And the second river flowed toward Cush. “The name of the second river is Gihon. It is the one that flowed around the whole land of Cush.” Cush is significant. In the biblical imagination, Cush is often associated with places far beyond Israel’s immediate borders, connected with regions south of Egypt and sometimes understood in relation to Ethiopia or Nubia. It represented distance. The edges. The lands far away. So here, in the opening pages of Scripture, before Abraham, before Israel, before temple, before priesthood, before covenant law, we see something breathtaking: Eden’s reach was already outward to the nations. The river of God’s garden was not only watering what was near. It was flowing toward what was far. The blessing of Eden was never meant to stop at Eden.

This matters because sometimes we imagine the mission of God as something that begins later in the story. We think of the nations when we get to Abraham, when God promises that all the families of the earth will be blessed through him. We think of the nations when we get to the prophets, when they speak of all peoples streaming to the mountain of the Lord. We think of the nations when Jesus sends His disciples to the ends of the earth. But Genesis 2 whispers it before all of that.  Before sin fractured the world, before exile, before empire, before the scattering of Babel, there was a river. And that river flowed out. Eden was never only about paradise enjoyed. It was about life extended.

Gihon tells us that the presence of God is generative. It gives birth. It gushes forth. It refuses to remain enclosed. Where God’s life is present, it begins to move beyond the boundaries. This is one of the first pictures we are given of abundance in Scripture, not abundance as accumulation, but abundance as overflow. The river does not preserve itself by staying in the garden. It becomes what it is by flowing.

We often want Eden without movement. We want nearness to God without the ache of being poured out. We want the safety of the garden without the vulnerability of the river. But the pattern from the beginning is that what God fills, God sends. The life of God bursts forth.

The blessing of God moves outward. The presence of God makes its way toward the nations.

Gihon’s birth imagery reminds us that the outward movement of God’s life is not sterile or mechanical. It is not simply strategy. It is labor. It is travail. It is the holy pain of life coming forth. The work of blessing the nations has always carried birth pangs. Every act of obedience that carries life beyond ourselves requires surrender. Every place where the kingdom breaks open in the world often comes through hidden pressure, deep groaning, and the willingness to be opened. This is true in us. Sometimes the Spirit’s work feels like a river. Other times it feels like labor. Something is pressing beneath the surface. Something is being formed in hiddenness. Something holy is asking to emerge. Gihon teaches us to pay attention to the places where God is causing life to break forth.

Maybe this is where Gihon begins to press on us personally. Because if the life of God is always moving outward, then we have to ask what places in us have become too closed off. Where has the Spirit been stirring beneath the surface, gently but persistently pressing life outward? Where have we tried to hold tightly to something that was always meant to flow? Sometimes the presence of God becomes something we want to protect, preserve, or keep close because it is precious to us. But the story of Eden reminds us that His presence is never diminished when it is shared. It multiplies. It moves. It becomes a river.

The story of Gihon stretches my vision of God’s heart. Eden’s river flows around Cush, around the far-off land, around the place beyond familiar borders. From the very beginning, God’s world was wide. His blessing was expansive. His presence was never meant to be possessed by one people in a way that excluded others. Even when God draws near to a particular people, He does so for the sake of blessing the whole earth. Nearness to God is always meant to become witness. We are brought close so that His life in us can become a gift to others.

This is the shape of Eden. It is also the shape of calling. And ultimately, it is the shape of Christ Himself.

Jesus, the true source of living water, stands in the middle of a thirsty world and invites anyone who is thirsty to come to Him and drink. But He does not stop there. He says that whoever believes in Him will have rivers of living water flowing from within them. Not ponds. Not reservoirs. Rivers. The life of Christ does not end with us. It is meant to move through us. It moves toward the weary. Toward the wounded. Toward the forgotten. Toward the nations. Toward Cush. Toward the ends of the earth.

So maybe Gihon invites us to sit honestly before the Lord and ask what He is causing to rise up in us. What life has He been forming beneath the surface? What blessing has He entrusted to us that was never meant to stay enclosed? Where have we confused faithfulness with holding on, when He may be inviting us to open our hands and let the river run?

The second river out of Eden reminds me, us, that God’s blessing has always been bigger than the garden. His life has always been moving beyond the borders. His presence has always been generative, gushing, birth-like, and impossible to contain.

Gihon is the river that bursts forth. From the beginning, Eden’s reach was out to the nations. And still, the waters flow.

Written by Bekah Baxter

There is a river mentioned almost quietly in the opening pages of Scripture. It appears only once by name, tucked into the geography of Eden, and yet it carries with it a symbolism that has echoed throughout the rest of the biblical story. The river is called Pishon. In Genesis 2, as the Garden of Eden is described, we learn that a single river flowed out of Eden to water the garden and then divided into four headwaters. The first is the Pishon. We are told that it winds through the land of Havilah—a place specifically noted for its treasures. And then Scripture pauses, almost as if it wants us to notice something:

“The gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there.” (Genesis 2:12)

It is an interesting detail to include so early in the story of the world. Before temples, before altars, before priests or sacrifices, God mentions three materials that will later become central to worship: gold, bdellium, and onyx. The river that flows from Eden carries with it the raw materials that will eventually be offered back to God.

The First River: Pishon
The name Pishon is often understood to mean to scatter, to spread, or to overflow. It paints a picture of movement, of abundance that does not stay contained. This river is not stagnant. It moves outward, circling the land of Havilah, carrying life and provision as it goes. Unlike some of the other rivers mentioned in Genesis, the Pishon is mysterious. Scholars still debate where it may have been geographically. But perhaps its mystery is part of the invitation. The biblical text is less concerned with helping us map the river and more interested in helping us notice what the river carries. The Pishon flows through a land rich with materials that would later become sacred. And that detail matters.

Gold: The Glory of Worship
The first treasure mentioned is gold, and Scripture tells us something specific about it: “The gold of that land is good.” Gold becomes one of the most significant materials used in Israel’s worship. When God instructs Moses on the construction of the Tabernacle, gold is everywhere—layered over the Ark of the Covenant, forming the mercy seat, shaping the lampstand, and decorating the priestly garments. Gold reflects light. It symbolizes glory. It points to the holiness and majesty of God. But what is striking to me is that the story of gold in worship begins not in Exodus, but in Eden. Long before humans would hammer it into sacred objects, it existed as a gift flowing through creation.The Pishon carried it. It reminds us that worship materials were never inventions of humanity. They were first provisions of God.

Bdellium: The Fragrance of Provision
Next comes bdellium, a word that appears only a few times in Scripture. It is believed to be a fragrant resin—something similar to myrrh or incense. Later in the wilderness, when Israel describes manna, the mysterious bread from heaven, they say its appearance was like bdellium (Numbers 11:7). The comparison suggests something beautiful, precious, and perhaps even luminous. Resins like bdellium were often associated with fragrance, and fragrance became an essential part of worship. Incense burned before the Lord symbolized prayers rising to heaven. In other words, bdellium reminds us that worship is not only about beauty and structure—it is about aroma. It is about presence. It is about something unseen rising toward God. Even here, in Eden’s geography, God had already placed within the earth the elements that would one day represent prayer.

Onyx: The Stone of Remembrance
Finally, the text mentions onyx. This stone plays a powerful role later in the story of Israel. When God designs the garments of the high priest, two onyx stones are placed on the shoulders of the priest’s ephod. On those stones are engraved the names of the twelve tribes of Israel. Every time the priest entered the presence of God, he carried the names of the people on his shoulders. The onyx stones were stones of remembrance. They symbolized the truth that the priest did not come before God alone. He carried the people with him. The material used to represent the people of God in worship was already present in the land from the very beginning of creation. The Pishon flowed past it.

When I read about the Pishon, I cannot help but notice how intentional this detail feels. The river flows out of Eden and carries with it the very materials that will one day become central to humanity’s worship of God. Gold for glory. Bdellium for fragrance. Onyx for remembrance. Before temples existed, before worship systems were established, before priests stood before altars, God had already woven worship into the fabric of creation. The earth itself held the ingredients. The river carried them. It is almost as if the story is quietly reminding us that worship did not begin with human effort. It began with divine provision. God placed the treasures in the ground long before anyone would gather them for sacred use.

The river flows outward from Eden. It does not remain inside the garden. It moves beyond it. For those of us serving in cross-cultural ministry, this image feels familiar. God’s presence has always been a river that moves outward bringing life, provision, and beauty to places beyond the center. Sometimes we enter places where the ground seems hard or dry. Yet again and again, we discover that God has already been there. Treasures are already present. Gold in the form of resilience. Fragrance in the prayers of the people. Stones of remembrance carried in the stories of communities who have walked with God far longer than we realized. The river has been flowing there long before we arrived.

Returning the Treasure
Perhaps the most beautiful part of the Pishon story is this: the materials it carried were eventually returned to God. Gold became sacred vessels. Fragrance became incense. Onyx became stones bearing the names of the people. What began as provision from creation became offerings in worship, and that is still the rhythm today. God gives. Creation holds the treasure. And we return it back to Him in worship. The Pishon may only appear briefly in Scripture, but it whispers something profound to my spirit. Even in the earliest moments of the world, God was already preparing the materials for worship. The river flowed. The treasures were there. And one day, they would all be brought back to Him.

Written by Bekah Baxter