Have You Ever Seen a Mullet Dance?

The water reflects the Spanish moss, magnolias and palm trees and it is smooth as glass. The surface breaks and a fish comes flying straight up and completes a leap of about ten feet in length. Another one jumps a smaller height and length and immediately reenters the water to jump again and again like a stone being skipped across the surface.

South Carolina is Adventureland for those who love nature. Steve and I are in Hilton Head this week and we're sitting on the balcony of our condo. In the space of less than ten minutes, we saw mullet jumping, turtles and an eight-foot alligator cruising from one end of the lagoon to the other. He was actually moving pretty quickly, gliding on top so that we could see his eyes above the water and the full length of his body. He moved quickly enough that, as he approached the end of the pond where the golf course was, several startled golfers stood watching him with raised clubs. Honest.

We also saw a long-necked cormorant coming toward us across the water. For a crazy minute we thought he was a snake halfway out of the water with a fish in his mouth. We saw only a long, black neck with a fish. His body was completely under the water.

All of this was going on to the accompaniment of the flapping sound of mullet hitting the water. The next flapping sound was of me hitting the internet to try to find out why they jump. There was the entertaining (and wrong) answer that they see where they are going by jumping. Some said that they are plant eaters but they jump to flee predators and they have the strength to jump as many times as they need to in order to escape. There were other explanations about their being able to absorb oxygen and such, but I was getting bored and went back out to watch the show. Wondering why I haven't posted a picture? Because they're so fast, you basically have to set your camera on an area of water and wait. Frankly, I didn't want the picture that badly.

We have seen great blue herons and a rookery where over fifty white egrets come to roost every night with much squawking. The rookery is at the edge of a lagoon with, you guessed it, more mullet. So there is much flapping and squawking and jumping and splashing. Adventureland. Come on down!

Beware of Branding

I am me, no more, no less. No reason to apologize; no excuse for arrogance. Of myself, I am nobody. But I belong to the King of Kings and that changes everything.

Branding is defined as a kind, grade or make of thing. It is generally recognized by a slogan, trademark or logo.

You think you know where this one is going. Let’s go somewhere else. We could talk about Christian branding - slogans, symbols, whatever. I want to talk about who I think I am.

In the past I have been wife, mother, daughter, accountant, financial analyst, writer, speaker and leader. I still am some of those things. But this is the point: there was a time when I identified myself as each of those things. The title became who I was. My life revolved around nourishing that image and protecting that name for myself.

Several years ago I decided that I deeply desired to follow God’s will and nothing else. And He chose some things for me that took me out of the comfortable confines of my life. I was willing and so He blessed me with gifts and the Holy Spirit to help me to do everything He asked of me.

But as I so often do, I took up the title and began to believe my own press. I became what I was doing for God. And when that happened, my pride got involved. I found myself doing what I still believe He wanted me to do, but balancing that between service and pride.

I have moved on to a new place in my life, both physically and mentally. I spent wonderful getaway time with some Christian sisters this weekend and, with their support and guidance and a lot of prayer, I came to a powerful conclusion. I believe God is no longer asking me to step out of my comfort zone. I think He has given me this beautiful place to write and study and just be me.

So what is my brand for now? I am a servant. That will take the form of writer sometimes, prayer at others, encourager, studier, reader, even “be still” thinker. I will try not to assume that what I am doing is who I am. I am, pure and simple, someone who is available to serve and to do whatever it is that God is calling me to do.

I Peter 4:10
"Each one should use whatever gift he has received to help others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.”

God Knows My Name

I was driving home from a visit to Northern Virginia where I had led a workshop and attended the wedding of a dear friend. I was awash in that sense of one foot in one state and the other somewhere farther south – both places still partially home, neither completely.

Facing the possibility of a sappy and overemotional drive home, I knew I had a long way to go. While I do love a Starbucks buzz, it will take you only so far. So I had turned on the radio and was switching channels between the “Radar Love” that was urging me to drive too fast and the contemporary Christian music that I usually listen to.

I hit the preset button one more time and heard the familiar lyrics: “Who am I that the Lord of all the earth would care to know my name, would care to feel my hurt?” And I came undone.

Because I have gone, and am still continuing to go through that process that all new people go through – that uncomfortable time when everyone knows your name and you are still trying to place faces. I have a new church and a new community and I am struggling with names.

And I am nobody.

Logic tells me that I should be doing better and that the “Lord of all the earth”, the Creator of the entire universe, should not only not know my name, but that He shouldn’t care anything at all about what’s going on in my life.

Yet here I sit, in this bubble of His complete care and love. Not only does He know my name, but He knew me before He “knit me together in my mother’s womb.” He chose my parents, my place of birth, my time of birth, and – amazing love – He has created good works in advance for me to do! He cares to keep my sun and moon and earth on their daily journeys. But He also cares that my personal needs - physical, emotional and spiritual - are met. He sent His only Son to die for my sins and to ensure that I will spend eternity in His presence.

I believe I will concentrate a little harder on this process of getting to know my new neighbors and friends at church.

The Kindness of Time

Sometimes the past jumps up and bites you – it’s surprising, painful and regrettable. But sometimes it washes over you with a kindness that comes with the passing of time. It covers your vision with a nostalgic patina viewed through experience and the hard-earned wisdom, finally, of what’s really important after all.

Anyone who has had a close family member or friend die will tell you that the first few weeks of grief are raw and invasive. You feel the need to remember as a measure of respect, but the memories are just too painful. As time grinds down the tender, hard edges, the softer memories come creeping in one-by-one. And after enough time, you are left with sweetness – those few select memories that you are willing to hold close and examine.

My young friends have for some time been urging me to open a Facebook account. I refused to give in for so long. But, to steal an appropriate line from my friend Donna, resistance is futile. Part of the reason I held off for so long is that I know my personality and I knew (and I was right) that it would become a major time sponge. But the flip side is that I can be online with my friends from Northern Virginia that I so miss and I can pretend that I will once again see them in church on Sunday morning. The other great pleasure has been in rediscovering friends from my past. I made just such a connection today and I am carrying that glow of nostalgia – my past looked at through eyes that know what’s really important.

Because in truth, we simply cannot deny the importance of the details of our growing up. They are in us, deep, and we can ignore them or pretend they never happened but they have helped to shape who we became.

Take hounds for instance. I was raised with beagles, lots of them. My daddy was a hunter and he kept a pack of beagles. I didn’t see much of them because they stayed in a pen down in the back, but I did have a beagle that was my pet in the house. When she died, I got a bassett hound. Hounds were always there for me to wrap my arms around and exult with or cry to.

My fondest memory of my daddy is of one Sunday morning when he got me out of Sunday School and we sneaked back home during church. Understand, we never missed church and this added to the spirit of adventure. One of the beagles had puppies and they were being weened. He needed to feed them and we gave them several saucers of milk. They knocked them over, lapped up the milk and began to lick the extra off each other’s faces. We laughed until we cried.

I grew up and moved on to cats and cocker spaniels. Over the last few years, though, I found myself yearning for a hound. When Chloe, my coonhound, came up on the rescue website, I was lost. I fell instantly in love with her because she so reconnected me with my past.

I guess the beauty of rediscovered past for me is that I see family and friends through different eyes. We’ve all grown older, some chubbier, some thinner, some balder; but I see them through gentler eyes. I see fewer defects, idiosyncrasies and flaws because I see the good things I remember and I know the other stuff just doesn’t matter. Time mellows.

Family Unplugged

I’ve been thinking a lot about family lately. Our son, Cory, and our grandkids, Jacob and Claire, just left after a brief stay – first time at our South Carolina home. Steve and I live in a golf community on the lake and it is essentially a retirement community. The nearest small town, Manning, is about 11 miles away. You will not find a Starbucks, a movie complex, Outback Steakhouse, Borders books or Target store. Best Buy does not occupy mall space nor does Laser Quest, Chuck E Cheese nor Red Robin.

How would our technology-craving, fast-moving, entertainment-centered kids (including our grown son) take to our new and very quiet life style? I will tell you that when they got into the car and drove away, I was as exhausted as I ever am after a stay. But what a sweet kind of fatigue this was!

The twilight of the night before had found us standing on our dock, tossing food to the turtles and fishing. We listened to Canadian geese passing overhead and watched heat lightning in the clouds on the horizon, “Southern lights”. I marveled at how very much it felt like my summer vacations of the 1950’s. No technology, just nature and family.

We played board games and sat on the back porch and rocked. My grandson and I shared stories and spent long companionable silences simply rocking and basking in our shared company. My granddaughter told me about her wishes and dreams and asked me about mine. We played bingo at the community center and set off fireworks.

Steve and I had been looking for a pontoon boat for some time and it just so happened that we found the one we felt we were supposed to buy only days before our family arrived. Steve and Jacob brought it home for the first time together. A milestone frozen in time that seemed monumental – that we will remember and we hope he does too.

Late at night, when the kids were in bed, the adults sat in the dark on the porch and listened to the crickets, cicadas and discussed the dearth of fireflies compared to my childhood. We too shared our dreams, disappointments, and hopes. We communicated. Without wires and without wireless. Just quiet voices wrapped in love.

Cookies for Me

School started this week here in South Carolina. The beginning of the routine, the mad dash for school supplies, the busses running again, it always makes me remember...

First day of kindergarten. In Hawaii. My son walked away from me and onto the bus and I stood there struggling with all the emotions I was hoping I’d escaped – the sense that he was on the path to adulthood, the quiet lonely kitchen I was returning to, middle school, high school graduation, college, marriage – it all came crashing into my tear-filled eyes.

I walked home with my baby girl in the stroller and took the first of countless glances I would take at the clock that day. I paced. I told myself that I needed the extra time to spend with only my daughter. Then the answer occurred to me! He loved chocolate chip cookies. I would pull a batch out of the oven just in time for his bus. We could come home and talk about his day over cookies and cold milk! And, true enough, our time together that day was sweet.

The next year as he was entering first grade, we were a world away from that beautiful place. Steve was in the Army and we found ourselves on the east coast in New Jersey. I felt a small twinge of worry as I dropped him off at school – new school, new state, new friends. How would he adjust? However, my mind quickly eased because I already had my bag of chocolate chips in the pantry.

As each school year approached, my emotions changed. I was again torn when my daughter started kindergarten. But as my kids got older, I didn’t mind those first days of school. Can we be honest here? I’ll confess I began to look forward to those days and the peace and quiet in my house before the after-school piano lessons started.

And there were always the cookies. Every year. My own gift to my kids. My way of welcoming them home from their first day of school.

As they began to get older, I noticed that sometimes they would grab a handful and head out the kitchen door. Gone were the days of family circles around the table with cookies and milk and talk about teachers and new friends. Soon they forgot to thank me for the cookies. Then one day, they were out with friends after that first day of school and the cookies sat untouched until after dinner.

Here’s the funny thing – this story is not nearly as depressing as it sounds. We still shared our lives but in different ways. I realized during those last few years that the cookies were for me – my way of marking time, of setting tradition, of providing a stabilizing influence. Who knew the tradition, the encouragement was for me?

How many times do we take issues, worries about someone to God? We try to “fix them”. We pray for them – surely if I pray enough, he’ll change, she’s got to know she’s wrong in this. And we go to God’s Word to prove our point, to be able to show that we are right. And the more we read, the more God says, “Are you listening? This is about you and I’ve been teaching you.”

So now my kids are grown and gone. But do you know what’s amazing? I never approach the Tuesday after Labor Day without a moment of wistful remembering. And I’ve been known to bake a cookie or two.

Full Circle with a Samaritan

I could have fallen in love with Steve’s dark eyes and hair. Or his big burgundy Mercury Marquis with the 8-track player. He was the only boy I had ever known that wore jeans and a corduroy blazer to class…in the 70’s – just wasn’t done but it was very sexy. I was attracted to all those things about him.

But the deal clincher happened the night of our first date. We were going out for a coke and a movie. We drove to the Tastee Freeze and sat for a bit and then started the short drive back to the little town movie theater to see Funny Girl. Along the way we passed a man with car trouble on the side of the road by Henderson College. Henderson was across the street from Ouachita where we both attended classes.

We pulled into a parking place downtown and walked to the theater. When we were almost at the ticket booth, he turned to me and said, “It may make us late, but would you mind too much if we drove back to help that man out with his car?” I told him that would be fine and we drove back. Thirty-nine years have passed and I can’t remember whether we were in fact late or even whether the man was still there and we helped him. But Steve’s concern so struck me that I called my mom that night and told her I had met the man I was going to marry.

Tonight we drove the golf cart to the community center to attend a benefit dinner. The skies were darkening the way they do so many early evenings here, but we didn’t care. We just figured we’d stay through the storm that would no doubt blow through quickly. Or we’d try to outrun it. Or, what fun, just drive home in it.

Sure enough the storm hit hard and fast as we were finishing our peach cobbler. We sat and visited for a bit; then Steve got antsy to get home and I was ready to sit on the back porch for the duration.

We went out to the front porch and I started laughing. Usually when we go to some affair or other at the center, there are at least 30 or so golf carts lined up in a row and a few cars scattered around. Tonight every parking space was filled with a car and there sat our soggy little cart alone on the grass – a testament to our being community newcomers.

The rain was pouring, the lightning was flashing, the seats were wet and the water was already standing in several-inch-deep puddles. Steve told me to stay put and he bolted across the sloppy lawn to get the cart for me. They are wonderfully adaptable little machines and he made a big circle around the lot and across the grass and pulled up onto the front porch to get me. There were several amused looks as Steve and I flew off into the rain, wet and laughing.

However we only got as far as the end of the community center street when he stopped and turned to me and said, “There’s a man back there whose wife is disabled and I think he’s struggling in this rain. Would you mind if we went back and gave him a hand?” I said of course not and we went back and Steve used the cart to transport her to the front porch. And I held back nostalgic tears of pride and gratitude that God had given me this good Samaritan of a man whose heart is so very tender.

Certainly we have had years of anger and frustration. There have been years when we have been strangers to one another. But we have endured. And tonight I felt like we came full circle at this most happy time of our lives together. I praise God for giving me this good and perfect gift of a man who cares about people.