As the tide of years ebbs and flows I find myself in a place of what I consider significant change. During a layoff and difficult marriage decisions, I lost my home years ago. I don’t consider myself a victim, it’s just a fact… one of the things that occurred in my past that adds to the layers of who/what I am and where I’ve been. That change took me from having what ‘we’ in America call ‘my own home’ to having a rental location. Cayden was 6 ½ and was a ‘little boy’. It was a blow to my pride and ego, and left a mark.
Last week I took some much needed PTO at the coast. Elizabeth’s folks are always good enough to let us spend time at the coast with them. Not only are they a joy but we try to spend as much time on the water with the boat as possible. It’s amazing, just like the dance I love with the sky in a plane, I love the dance with the wind and waves of the ocean. Maybe it’s sexist, but I think of the ocean as a woman. Ever changing, powerful, beautiful, with an ability to have the most calming effect on me… bringing the best out of me and connecting me to a deep part of my innermost being. (I will not elaborate on what happens when you don’t obey the rules of the ocean or a woman.)
Elizabeth is much like to ocean to me. Mysterious and wild, with the ability to heal, guide and partner, much like the winds and tides of the ocean do with a sailboat.
So the connection?
Change is in the wind, the tides are going out, and life is taking a turn I don’t want. It’s time to move. My son is no longer a little boy, he is now officially a ‘young man’. The little kid that needed stability during divorce, loss of home etc. has to grow again, like his old man. I can either fight the tides of time and wind, or learn to pull up the sail and let her run with the wind.
Last week we boarded the boat at Taylor’s Creek east of Beaufort NC. Elizabeth and I love this spot. It is a little out of the way, but we are literally just 100 yards from Carrot Island where the wild ponies of Shackleford banks roam.
The natural beauty of the water and the untouched sanctuary of the island is a place of peace. There has never been a time that we’ve been out there that something doesn’t ‘change’ deep within.
It calls me to a place that is hard to explain. The channel runs from Fort Macon and the Ocean inlet all the way up Taylor’s creek, past historic old homes, all the way to the end of Carrot Island. The water ranges from a few feet to, at high tide, 20 feet deep in places. As we backed slowly off the dock, as if a gentle breeze was taking us away to a dream, we headed due east to look for bait fish. Not 5 minutes away from the dock, Ann, Bob, Elizabeth and myself were in 12 feet of water when a bottle-nose dolphin rose from the bottom, rolled forward and lead the way for us.
We found a total of 3 dolphins that were gliding through the depths leading us east down the still, peaceful waterway. The water glimmered off their shiny grey backs and fins, and they rose and fell with the rhythm of life through the water.
We followed.
Out came the camera and we all just basked in the enjoyment and presence of being with these amazing creatures. They seemed to not care about our boat and continued on their way. As they rolled over the top and back down we notched the throttle to ‘slow’ and just kept pace with them.
Change…
There was a slight breeze, the tide was slow, and sky was clear with unseasonably warm temps, and these creatures ebbed and flowed with the changes around them. I could learn much about dealing with changes the way our Dolphin friends do. My normal ‘MO’ is to lead an internal charge to fight change or make it happen, transition MY way. At 51 I am no longer clear on the approach. As my ocean (Elizabeth) sits with me by a fire, I contemplate how I am going to make this change. It’s a little scary and anyone who knows me understands, me + change = Bad combination… 🙂
Where I have little faith, she does. Where I have little trust…she does, and I know where her trust, deep in her bones come from. It’s the fact she knows she is loved by Him. The older I get the more ‘respectful’ I get around God’s name. I remember reading about monks who translated the scriptures. As they wrote God’s name, they were put down their pens, wash themselves, (cleanse) and then write more. They were ‘unworthy’ to even write His name let alone ‘speak’ it. To some these changes I am talking about are small potatoes and mean very little, however, when it comes to my son, I am not logical, not sane, not stable at all. I will bleed and kill for him. I can’t help it. It’s the same loud passion my mother carries for us and the quiet storm behind my father’s eyes I saw growing up. There was always some ‘form’ of protection around us and it’s still the same today.
I stopped believing in accidents years ago when my Haven slipped away. Yes there are waves, winds, and at times I take on water. Truthfully, there have been times when it appears the ship is going to sink, there is no plan and this is all bad. The ocean, much like a woman, much like Aslan in the Narina stories, isn’t tame. But there is a plan. It doesn’t change the grief of change, but I know, there is a plan. With that plan that I can’t see, maybe it’s time to let God take me on the winds, tides and sea of change. Maybe it’s time to set the sail and run with the wind and let her go for all she has…
And find the next safe harbor He has for me…
As we make slow headway east following our Dolphin friends, these creatures of wondrous design demonstrate for me that there is a plan.
I think… the same is true for you my friends.
May your week be filled with His direction on your journey.
