...and go.

I've always had a thing for boats and water.  When I was a little girl, my dad lived on a houseboat on Lake Lanier in North Georgia.  Every other weekend, and two weeks out of the summer, that was my home.  The floating, gently swaying shelter rocked me to sleep.  The deep, dark, green-blue water was my backyard.  The fish, my mystery.  I felt loved and free there.  At first, when I was really young, I needed to have on a life jacket AND be held by a grown-up to feel safe in the water.  Then I grew into feeling safe enough with just my life jacket on, and eventually to feeling confident swimming without it.

When I was 18, during a particularly stressful, transitional, unfamiliar season in my life (my first months in Tulsa) I had a dream that still speaks to me when I remember it.  I was on the platform of a boat, undocked in the middle of the sea riding 20-30 ft waves, up-and-down, side-to-side, terrified.  The boat would plunge vertically, nose diving into the sea.   Water was crashing over the rails, and I could actually feel my stomach drop with the motion, like a roller coaster with no tracks.  My pulse was racing.  I thought I could die.  Then, in my panic, I suddenly remembered a certain story about a bunch of guys freaking out in the same situation, and I had this knowing.  Peaceful, courageous and higher than fear.

Different cultures have different words, stories and beliefs to describe spiritual light.  I am fascinated by light in all of its forms.  In my own experience thus far, I've known light through Jesus.  In that story about the guys freaking out, Jesus was asleep in the bottom of that boat.  Great story.  My sudden knowing was that Jesus was now asleep in the bottom of my own boat, and no boat would ever sink with Jesus sleeping on it.  No need to frantically wake him, like the disciples did.  I was safe.  The tempest became exciting.  The boat was still nose diving, my stomach was still dropping with the motion, but now it was a blast!  Like a roller coaster with no tracks.

I'm here in another particularly stressful, transitional, unfamiliar season in my life.  Unfamiliar in circumstance, but not in feelings of fear, then hope and eventually courage and clarity.  Right now, I'm at hope.

"We've got to let go and ride the waves as they come," my husband says.  Very soon, he'll be a soldier in the US Army.  He leaves for basic training and AIT in one month and one day.  If I fear, he'll worry.  If he worries, I will fear.  No room for that now.  We are at the crest, the nose is starting to tilt downward, I'm  planting my feet, bending my knees and... the boat tilts, I lean back... the boat tilts, I lean back... stomach...