The Anchor Holds

        Sometimes when I read about the disciples in the boat in the midst of the storm… I have to wonder what they REALLY felt like. Were they sick at their stomachs?  Did they really think that their lives were going to end?  Was the threat of being devoured by creatures under the waves a biggie?  They said they were afraid unto death.  Is that the same phrase we use today to convey that we’re “scared to death’?  How was it when Jesus stepped into the boat and the storm stopped?  When Jesus calmed the seas? When He said “Peace be still” and the storm stopped.  Have you ever been in a storm that caused that panic in your heart?
             I grew up in Miami, Florida, and was regularly out on a small boat far out at sea, fishing.  On several occasions the sky would grow dark, the rain would pelt down on us, and the waves would rise.  Oft’ times the waves would be so high that our little vessel would seem to be but a toy in a bathtub but the captain was unruffled.  He consoled our frightened hearts that this was not truly a storm, just rough seas.  We always made land, and there was not really any threat.  On other occasions I would go down to the beach to watch the surf as the warnings of hurricanes began to crackle on the weather stations.  There was really no danger at that point…the storm was still many hours from land fall…but the waves, the sky, the rain, the darkness…oh, I would not have wanted to be upon those seas in a little boat. 
            On September 22, 1995, when my mother was struck and killed by an oncoming car, I myself became the little boat out upon the raging sea.  I was battered and tossed around like I was a tub-toy being played with by a toddler.  There were no actual waves, and no visible storms.  But the storm was real! The waves were the most violent this boat had ever experienced.  I was tossed about and yanked against the chain that held the anchor until my boat was almost torn apart.  But God made the boat, He was the Anchor, and the Anchor held. 
           I don’t know what type of storm you may be experiencing today, but my prayer for you is that you, too, may find in Christ a solid Rock, a secure Anchor, and a safe Harbor.

Making Tracks

            Recently at Crescent Beach, Florida, I noticed this set of tracks and was contemplating the crisscrossing of each new and different pattern.  The pattern was ever-changing.  Some tracks became more prominent and made longer lasting imprints.  Some were first bold, and then receded into the background.  Each pattern brought something new and different – but all a part of the whole that shaped and enriched the depth and texture. 
             How like life experiences with the many people God has brought and continues to bring into my life.  I am wealthy beyond measure as God brings names and faces to my memory.  “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, Always in every prayer of mine for you all making request with joy, For your fellowship in the gospel” (Philippians 1:3).  Thanks for investing in the “texture” of my life.

July 21 A Piece of Driftwood

A PIECE OF DRIFTWOOD

As seen at Marco Island, Florida 1972

Hidden, discarded, tossed about, on the far-stretching, blinding sands,
A scene of desolation; not made by human hands.
Beyond the distant edge of sea, the green-blue waters still,
Beyond the heavens sun-lit rays, the tempestuous clouds to burst at will.

Those restless waters closer by with troubled, white-capped surf,
Rolling endlessly to reach the shore of glistening, sandy, turf.

A towering pine between the surf and I, – driftwood at its base,
Broken, bleached, and scarred by time – scars that nature can’t erase.
I viewed this gnarled starkness, seeing what God might see,
And knew that what I’d been before, no longer would I be.

My life had been a raging surf, obtaining changing goals,
Joining each new larger wave, with constant, crashing, thrashing rolls.
My life was once a tempestuous cloud, with darkness and despair,
Which overflowed with ugliness, a life in reckless disrepair.
Most of all my life was like the driftwood by the sea,
Broken, gnarled, and scarred by sin, all hope gone out of me.

But then I saw the sun-lit rays, and lifted up my face
And knew that God who made the world, could all my sin erase,
The raging surf and tempestuous clouds, and driftwood by the sea,
Had preached a mighty lesson on the plan of God for me,
I knew that as I left those shores I had a brand new start.
And all that God had taught me there, had really changed my heart.

Misty Morning in Seaside, Oregon

James 4:14 "You do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes."

     In October 2004, my husband and I flew to Seaside, Oregon for a three-day get-away.  We kept a hectic schedule in an attempt to “see everything”. 

      On our final morning  before returning home,  it was cold and raining.  We decided to go one last time to see the beauty of the coastline, and were rewarded by this magnificent scenery.          

      Today as I look through my pictures, I am reminded again of the  thoughts I had as I saw the mist rising off the sea. My life is a vapor – temporary, fleeting, quickly passing.  I have to daily choose  to cast my cares upon the Lord, “for He cares for me.”  John Tindsley said  it like this “Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday and all is well”. 

Birds in Flight

Matthew 6:26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?

 

Several years ago my sister and her family visited with us as we traveled to Sanibel Island, Florida.  I prepared my camera for the shot of birds in flight,  asked Miranda; my niece; to toss bread crumbs into the air, and I snapped my pictures.

 

The Sea is His – He Made It

Oh Lord our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!

            Since my earliest memories, the beach, sand, surf, shells, driftwood, and palm trees have captivated me.  In June, 1999 my husband and I spent the day on the shores of Hunting Island Beach over on the east coast. The beach which once existed has long since eroded away. The surf now pounds into densely overgrown forest and on a daily basis another row of trees falls prey to the non-ending onslaught of waves. 

            It’s like a battlefield with an inexhaustible army of foot soldiers attacking and pushing back the enemy.  The trees fall prey to each new wave, falling where they stood, some forward, some backward, leaving a battlefield of decaying debris.  As I walk along the strewn carcasses I often walk into the surf to get past the tangled fallen “soldiers”.  Sometimes I must crawl over, and oft times I retreat into the front lines that stand ready for the next onslaught. 

            I find one gallant old soldier, possibly a once stalwart oak, who has fallen windward, leaving his roots exposed to the vicious attacks of the crashing waves.  By this time there are no remaining signs of life – just washed and bleached skeletal remains of a magnificent root system.  I climb up on the largest parts and sit for a while, contemplating the power of water as it swirls in frothy foam just inches below my perch.  I watch as the water slaps against the face of the worn- out old trunk, assaulting it with injury heaped upon injury. 

            I wonder about my awesome God who has put such a system of orderliness into motion.  The tides come in; they go out – the moon and all the wondrous facts of the universe working together in harmony, creating the gravitational forces which control these tides.  I marvel at the erosion on one beach and the birth of another as the sand redeposits itself elsewhere.  I think of all the changing earth around me, and the majesty at my feet.  I am reminded of the words of David. “The sea is His, He made it (Psalm 95:5), and I praise God in that knowledge.

Wooded Shore

MY WOODED SHORE…1969, On many Saturday mornings, I took my manual Royal Typewriter to the woods along the coastline of Cape Florida.  It was just one of many beautiful beaches that I enjoyed visiting. There was an old burned out and decaying lighthouse, and hundreds of pine trees along the shore.  It was a perfect place for me to get away from the concrete jungle of Miami and to discover the solitude that I so desperately needed.  That love for the beach, the waves, the majesty of the sea, has never wavered.  It is in those isolated places around the world that I feel most at peace.  Time marched on and the Cape Florida Park became Bill Baggs State Park.  The pines are gone after a hurricane.  The lighthouse has been restored, and now there are fences, gates, and tours.  (No one asked me if I wanted “progress” to change my wooded shore.) Though I have no picture of that particular “Wooded Shore”, this picture I took while visiting Kauai a few years ago, is a wonderful reminder of my original Wooded Shore.

Wooded Shore

 Silence in my quiet domain, with only sounds of wind and rain,
Making it a place of peace, City sounds have strangely ceased.

The pines towering high above my head with fallen needles as my bed,
A place of worship changed to be, in these my woods beside the sea. 

I pause to think, to dwell awhile, Looking upward, compelled to smile,
For this great place of solitude, God gave to me this awesome mood.

How great a God, my God must be, to bring such total calm to me.
To leave behind the ocean roar, to leave the peace of wooded shore,

To see no more the glistening sand, I lift to heaven my out-stretched hand, 

I’ll always thank the Lord for this, the chance to know such perfect bliss,
To know my Father cares so much, that I can sense His every touch. 

Going back into the world, Where Satan’s every dart is hurled,
I’ll remember this, my quiet domain, and know always, God doth remain. 

Ritchie Oldham Hale © May 2, 1969