August 16 – 1:52 pm
Off topic from the previous post, but still relevant to my life right now, is that the Lord is beginning to show me – very gently – that HE is supreme, HE is sovereign, HE is holy and righteous. He showed me through a Bible study that I’m doing while I’m here that I’ve been offended by Him. How audacious am I?
The Scripture reference is Matthew 11:6 – Blessed is the man who does not fall away on account of me. (NIV) The KJV says it this way – Blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me. The original Greek word here for ‘offended’ is ‘skandalizo’ and Strong’s defines it this way – 1) to put a stumbling block or impediment in the way, upon which another may trip and fall, metaph. To offend 1a) to entice to sin 1b) to cause a person to begin to distrust and desert one whom he ought to trust and obey 1b1) to cause to fall away 1b2) to be offended in one, i.e. to see in another what I disapprove of and what hinders me from acknowledging his authority 1b3) to cause one to judge unfavourably or unjustly of another 1c) since one who stumbles or whose foot gets entangled feels annoyed 1c1) to cause one displeasure at a thing 1c2) to make indignant 1c3) to be displeased, indignant. (emphasis mine)
To see this in context, the story is Matthew 11:1-19, when Jesus is responding to John the Baptist’s disciples question as to whether or not He is the Christ. John is sitting in jail and needs to know if He is Who John believes Him to be. Admittedly, I am not a scholar, so I would encourage you to read it yourself, but this is what I believe is going on here: John was about to die. His life had been spent entirely submitted to God – preparing the way for the One. John knew that He could save him. I believe that he knew that his role in the story was complete. Jesus was telling him – reassuring him – that He was the One, and that his life had not been spent in vain. He was also telling him that his place in the story was fulfilled, and that John’s continued faith and trust was pleasing in God’s sight. In telling John not to be offended, He is telling him to accept His divine supremacy and plan. Wow.
I am pretty blatantly ripping this straight from Believing God: experiencing a fresh EXPLOSION of faith by Beth Moore. Some of the conclusions are my own, but the idea and the Scripture references come from pages 68-72 of the study. Beth points to Daniel 3:16-18 and Colossians 1:15-17 to further reinforce His supremacy and our call to accept, nay, embrace, our role in the larger story that God is telling.
I think that in our quest for intimacy with Christ, we can easily get away from His total “otherness”, His sovereignty and His authority over our lives – that our lives are not our own. That my life is not about me… We want Him to be our friend, but that takes away from Who He really is. Yes, we are called to walk closely beside Him, we are to trust Him, we are to obey Him and to submit to His calling on our lives. Yes, He wants to restore our hearts so that we may live fully in Him, through Him and for Him. The big ‘but’ here is that in reducing Him to ‘friend’ we lose sight of Who He really is and what He’s up to. We get caught up in our stories instead of His story.
Lord, give us eyes to see and ears to hear, so that we may take our rightful place in Your story, acknowledging fully and joyfully that You are the Author, and that participating in Your story is an invitation, a privilege and the goal of our lives. Praise You, Jesus.
8.20.2006
battle
August 16 – 12:36 am
I know that everything we go through is not a fight – not spiritual warfare, but sometimes it is, and there is no denying it. Continuing from the previous post - recognizing that I am in the midst of a battle is not the same thing as winning that battle or defeating the enemy. In fact, I believe that recognition brings on more opposition. At least, it seems to be the case more often than not.
I recognized that my friend was under opposition. I prayed through it. I prepared for it as well as I could. I braced for the battle and was soundly defeated. Why is that?
Frankly, I am not in the mood for philosophical bullshit. I’ve just been through a battle and I’m still seething. Being angry – this angry – is bad enough… but the real fear here – the relevant emotion, if you will, is non-emotion. Disengagement - as in, my heart is totally removed from what is happening around me. For someone who is trying to live from her deep heart, disengagement is a BAD thing.
I am self-righteous angry, not heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping, can’t-talk-straight angry. The fact that my heart is so not involved is indicative of defeat. OK, so maybe it’s because I’ve not allowed it to reach my heart. I think if it did, I’d break. Does that mean I’ve defeated myself?
August 16 – 5:36 am
I woke up with a demon on my head. OK, so I didn’t see it, but I was definitely pinned to the bed and could not move – at all. All I could do was cry out to Jesus. I couldn’t even rebuke it myself. As if that isn’t bad enough, here’s a strange twist – I was not afraid. No fear at all… I just recognized what was happening, realized that I couldn’t do anything about it, and cried out to the One who could.
The stupid part about all this is that I knew going into last night that there is more going on here than just talking through some things with my friend. I know – head knowledge – that I needed to approach the conversation wary and alert, and armed to the teeth. How many times am I going to screw this up? How many times am I going to go into a situation without Jesus? Even if I go into the situation prayed up as I did last night, as soon as I get in the drivers seat, the battle is lost.
I know that everything we go through is not a fight – not spiritual warfare, but sometimes it is, and there is no denying it. Continuing from the previous post - recognizing that I am in the midst of a battle is not the same thing as winning that battle or defeating the enemy. In fact, I believe that recognition brings on more opposition. At least, it seems to be the case more often than not.
I recognized that my friend was under opposition. I prayed through it. I prepared for it as well as I could. I braced for the battle and was soundly defeated. Why is that?
Frankly, I am not in the mood for philosophical bullshit. I’ve just been through a battle and I’m still seething. Being angry – this angry – is bad enough… but the real fear here – the relevant emotion, if you will, is non-emotion. Disengagement - as in, my heart is totally removed from what is happening around me. For someone who is trying to live from her deep heart, disengagement is a BAD thing.
I am self-righteous angry, not heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping, can’t-talk-straight angry. The fact that my heart is so not involved is indicative of defeat. OK, so maybe it’s because I’ve not allowed it to reach my heart. I think if it did, I’d break. Does that mean I’ve defeated myself?
August 16 – 5:36 am
I woke up with a demon on my head. OK, so I didn’t see it, but I was definitely pinned to the bed and could not move – at all. All I could do was cry out to Jesus. I couldn’t even rebuke it myself. As if that isn’t bad enough, here’s a strange twist – I was not afraid. No fear at all… I just recognized what was happening, realized that I couldn’t do anything about it, and cried out to the One who could.
The stupid part about all this is that I knew going into last night that there is more going on here than just talking through some things with my friend. I know – head knowledge – that I needed to approach the conversation wary and alert, and armed to the teeth. How many times am I going to screw this up? How many times am I going to go into a situation without Jesus? Even if I go into the situation prayed up as I did last night, as soon as I get in the drivers seat, the battle is lost.
oppression
August 15 – 3:19 pm
I feel like I’ve been fighting for my life - fighting on behalf of another, so that I may receive the healing and restoration that I came here so desperate for. It seems that once again, I have been so inward-focused that I have allowed the suffering around me to go unattended. Yes, I realize that those 2 statements contradict themselves. Let me explain.
I have been fighting several oppressive spirits here. Not all out and out war, but more of a recognition that they are here and a pleading with the Lord to rebuke them from my friend so that he will be set free, but also that I may be healed, as well. His oppression is hindering me.
Before you condemn me as arrogant and self-serving, let me say that most of this is going on the in the spiritual realm. I recognize in my spirit that there is oppression here. I recognize that it is hindering me by putting a strain on the relationship with my friend, thus taking my attention and focus off of the work I believe the Lord wants to accomplish in my heart and mind while I am here. I also recognize that my friend needs to be set free and delivered from this un-opposed oppression – there is no one here to recognize it or fight it off.
It seems that once again, the word He revealed to me at my baptism is unrelenting and true – my life is not about me. I came here seeking healing and restoration, clarity and direction, peace and renewal. What I found was that and more. I found one of God’s children in desperate need – more desperate than mine. I say that because I have a community, a church – I can choose to be surrounded by godly people at any given time – he does not. He is lost and wandering, and living under such oppression that I can hardly fathom, and he doesn’t even begin to recognize. As the battle rages in the spiritual realm, the tension between us is growing.
So typical of the Lord to send me here and to get as much mileage out of the time here as possible… one of the most difficult things that I’ve encountered lately is that I feel like I’ve been taken out – that my inability to deal with all that has happened to me this year has rendered me incapable of being used for the Kingdom in any real way. Maybe He’s trying to show me differently…
That’s a new thought. It seems to me that He is showing Himself capable – that He is the One working in and through me – that I have very little to do with what’s going on in my life. Yes, I have to choose to participate. I had to choose to come here. I had to choose to seek Him. I had to choose to seek restoration and healing. I have to choose to let Him continue His work in me. I have to choose to stay engaged and involved in what He wants to accomplish in my life. But there is recognition that He is the One doing all these things… and that recognition exposes unintentional arrogance, pride and self-sufficiency – independence. Hmmm…
Yes, I know (head knowledge) that He is sovereign and capable. What is so very awesome is that Paula and I have been praying that our head knowledge will become heart knowledge. We’ve been praying this so that we can live from our deep hearts, firmly rooted in faith, as opposed to trying to live on head knowledge, because what we know intellectually is not cutting it for the crisis’ of faith that our lives have become.
Honestly, I came here fully expectant of a God-show, fireworks and all. What I’ve found instead is a gentleness that soothes my soul. Yes, I still face doubts and uncertainty about my immediate future – finances, job, school, home, church, community, etc. However, the fear is being overridden by a gentleness that’s different than peace. It’s as though He has picked me up and is holding me gently in His hands, assuring me of His love, His (dang it) sovereignty, His absolute control and purpose for everything that’s been allowed to happen to me. Oh, did I mention His mercy? He’s assured me of that, as well. Isn’t He amazing?
Going back to the original thought for this post, this new revelation begs the question as to what to do about the oppression and tension here. What part does He want me to play? It’s up to Him to heal and restore my friend, so where does that leave me? The word that’s circling in my mind is ‘love’. I’m to love him and let Jesus do the rest. What does love look like in this situation? Certainly, I can pray. I can ask to be allowed to intercede. I can bind away the unclean spirits that are oppressing him. I can believe God that He will give me words and present an opportunity to talk if that’s what He wants to happen. At the very least, I can listen. I can turn my focus off of myself and tune into what’s going on with him. Of this I am confident – I was sent here. As stated above, I came here seeking many things. I think this may be the classic example of being poured into, so that in turn, His love can overflow into the lives around me. I love the way that Scripture always points us in the right Direction:
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. – Philippians 4:4-7
I feel like I’ve been fighting for my life - fighting on behalf of another, so that I may receive the healing and restoration that I came here so desperate for. It seems that once again, I have been so inward-focused that I have allowed the suffering around me to go unattended. Yes, I realize that those 2 statements contradict themselves. Let me explain.
I have been fighting several oppressive spirits here. Not all out and out war, but more of a recognition that they are here and a pleading with the Lord to rebuke them from my friend so that he will be set free, but also that I may be healed, as well. His oppression is hindering me.
Before you condemn me as arrogant and self-serving, let me say that most of this is going on the in the spiritual realm. I recognize in my spirit that there is oppression here. I recognize that it is hindering me by putting a strain on the relationship with my friend, thus taking my attention and focus off of the work I believe the Lord wants to accomplish in my heart and mind while I am here. I also recognize that my friend needs to be set free and delivered from this un-opposed oppression – there is no one here to recognize it or fight it off.
It seems that once again, the word He revealed to me at my baptism is unrelenting and true – my life is not about me. I came here seeking healing and restoration, clarity and direction, peace and renewal. What I found was that and more. I found one of God’s children in desperate need – more desperate than mine. I say that because I have a community, a church – I can choose to be surrounded by godly people at any given time – he does not. He is lost and wandering, and living under such oppression that I can hardly fathom, and he doesn’t even begin to recognize. As the battle rages in the spiritual realm, the tension between us is growing.
So typical of the Lord to send me here and to get as much mileage out of the time here as possible… one of the most difficult things that I’ve encountered lately is that I feel like I’ve been taken out – that my inability to deal with all that has happened to me this year has rendered me incapable of being used for the Kingdom in any real way. Maybe He’s trying to show me differently…
That’s a new thought. It seems to me that He is showing Himself capable – that He is the One working in and through me – that I have very little to do with what’s going on in my life. Yes, I have to choose to participate. I had to choose to come here. I had to choose to seek Him. I had to choose to seek restoration and healing. I have to choose to let Him continue His work in me. I have to choose to stay engaged and involved in what He wants to accomplish in my life. But there is recognition that He is the One doing all these things… and that recognition exposes unintentional arrogance, pride and self-sufficiency – independence. Hmmm…
Yes, I know (head knowledge) that He is sovereign and capable. What is so very awesome is that Paula and I have been praying that our head knowledge will become heart knowledge. We’ve been praying this so that we can live from our deep hearts, firmly rooted in faith, as opposed to trying to live on head knowledge, because what we know intellectually is not cutting it for the crisis’ of faith that our lives have become.
Honestly, I came here fully expectant of a God-show, fireworks and all. What I’ve found instead is a gentleness that soothes my soul. Yes, I still face doubts and uncertainty about my immediate future – finances, job, school, home, church, community, etc. However, the fear is being overridden by a gentleness that’s different than peace. It’s as though He has picked me up and is holding me gently in His hands, assuring me of His love, His (dang it) sovereignty, His absolute control and purpose for everything that’s been allowed to happen to me. Oh, did I mention His mercy? He’s assured me of that, as well. Isn’t He amazing?
Going back to the original thought for this post, this new revelation begs the question as to what to do about the oppression and tension here. What part does He want me to play? It’s up to Him to heal and restore my friend, so where does that leave me? The word that’s circling in my mind is ‘love’. I’m to love him and let Jesus do the rest. What does love look like in this situation? Certainly, I can pray. I can ask to be allowed to intercede. I can bind away the unclean spirits that are oppressing him. I can believe God that He will give me words and present an opportunity to talk if that’s what He wants to happen. At the very least, I can listen. I can turn my focus off of myself and tune into what’s going on with him. Of this I am confident – I was sent here. As stated above, I came here seeking many things. I think this may be the classic example of being poured into, so that in turn, His love can overflow into the lives around me. I love the way that Scripture always points us in the right Direction:
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. – Philippians 4:4-7
8.15.2006
LIFE
August 14, 2006 4:04 am
There are so many things that have gone awry in my life… I need the Lord to show up in so many ways. Apparently, He wants to deal with one thing at a time. Of the many things that He wants full access to – and the thing I most want to give Him – is my heart. There is so much hidden there, hurting and desperate for Him.
I came to this place with a lot of expectation. He is excruciatingly slow in working things out in my heart and mind. The most focus and emotion has centered on my dad, so that is where we have to begin.
I want to tell you a story. It’s not a woe-is-me tale, and it’s not fiction. This is part of the story of my life, up to this point, although I believe there is more to this particular chapter – much more. I’ll tell you what I know as of tonight, but to do that, I have to bring you back to my childhood.
Author’s note – I am telling you facts – if they seem cold, it’s because dealing with facts has become one of my coping mechanisms – that and sarcasm... The Lord is dealing with that.
Ready? I’m not sure if I am either, but here goes… this has been a long time coming. 16 years, almost, but I’m getting ahead of the story…
I grew up spending my summers in south Florida. Every summer, my mom and dad and us 2 girls would load up entirely too much stuff into our station wagon, hitch up the boat, and off we’d go on a 3 week vacation. We’d wind our way south through Florida, stopping at out-of-the-way places like Wickeewatchee to watch live mermaids and Wakulla Springs to hold hands with some brave boy to jump off a diving platform into the crystal clear and icy cold water 15’ below. Of course, we’d do the Disney thing, and the Busch Garden thing – glass bottom boats are the bomb – and we’d go to really cool places like Tarpon Springs and the Everglades and – how cool is this – to Venice Beach to search for shark’s teeth. Of course, the ultimate destination was always the Keys – Marathon, to be exact. As much as we loved the cool stops along the way, we could not wait to get to the Blue Waters Motel on Marathon Key. We’d unhook the boat (I was always daddy’s little girl and could pretty much handle a 21’ boat by age 9 or so) as soon as we got there. Then came the traditional first night’s swim in the pool with Dad, and then we’d be on the water at first light.
There are so many memories, like a night-blooming cactus and flip-flops melting on the blazing hot asphalt, striped butts from tanning through swimsuits and holding my breath as long as I could underwater in the pool, but most of them center around the ocean. My dad was an avid fisherman, and being daddy’s little girl, so was I. We were also avid divers. The coral reefs were places of high adventure and close calls – from almost drowning to near misses with sharks and barracudas, to great fishing and phosphorescent algae glowing behind the boat at night. To say that I loved it there doesn’t even come close. I was at home there. I belonged. I’d sit alone at the end of the jetties late at night, watching the stars falling, in awe of the world and all that life had to offer.
Fast-forward to the summer of 1990. I was 17 and a real pain in the ass to my parents. We deviated that year, going on a road trip to the Rockies instead of going to the Keys. Both my sister and I were typical teenagers – boy-crazy, not so parent-crazy, and independent to a fault. The trip, although strewn with beautiful memories, was, by far and large, a huge disaster. My sister and I couldn’t wait to get home to our boyfriends, and my parent’s couldn’t wait to get away from us. Oh, did I mention that my sister had a baby in April of 1989? So, in addition to me and my sister’s complete disinvolvement, we had a toddler along for a 3 week road trip. It was not much fun – for any of us.
In the midst of all this turmoil, my dad, for reasons still unclear to me, had become very unhappy with his work as a photographer for the paper. He used to cover the LSU games, squatting on the sidelines, taking incredible shots of the Tigers in all their glory. Well, he was in an accident one day; as a passenger, he saw it coming and responded instinctively by trying to hit the non-existent brake. He broke every bone in his left foot, and was unable to cover the games anymore. He did special features on local chefs, local coverage, stuff like that, but eventually became very unhappy with changes within himself and his work environment. He decided to retire that year to become a freelance photographer. His idea was to cover the 500th anniversary of Columbus’ arrival in the new world by tracing his voyage through the Bahamas and Bermuda. The idea was to publish a photographic documentary in 1992, and to begin a career as a freelance photographer.
So, in late November 1990, he left for our fishing camp in Mississippi to get all his gear and the boat ready for the trip. I was supposed to meet up with him, having gotten special permission from school to go with him. A week or so later, a friend and I went to the camp, hoping to catch up with him to finalize plans for me to meet him in Florida. We missed him. I wrote him a note, on the off-chance that he would return prior to heading on to Florida – that will become more relevant as the story unfolds. On December 7, he called home, looking for me. I was not there – I had gotten into a fight with my boyfriend and was late getting home that night. That was the last time we heard from him.
On December 13, my mom’s birthday, he did not call. I began calling one Coast Guard office after another, trying to get to the “appropriate” office to report him missing. My mom and sister were either in denial or paralyzed – I’m not sure which, but I took charge and gave many an agency hell, trying to convince them of his expert boatmanship, his familial responsibility and love for his wife – all of which pointed to something having gone terribly wrong. (You think I’m passionate and bold now – you should have known me back then – it was pretty crazy.) We finally got in touch with the Coast Guard in Broward County, and were told we reported him missing too late – that the search area was too large to hold any realistic expectation of finding him. They found his truck and trailer, but no one who actually saw him leave in the boat. He never checked into customs at Bimini, the closest island in the Bahamas to the US mainland. They traced his credit card activity and his traveler’s checks – and froze my mom’s assets. (“Standard procedure during an investigation, Ma’am…” – this as she tries to continue to pay bills and feed her family while her husband is lost at sea…) I even went as far as calling Unsolved Mysteries – it was in its prime back then – to ask them how long it would take to air the story. I was told 3 weeks, minimum – I hung up, telling them that 3 weeks was too long to wait for answers – that he needed help right away. In my mind, he was somewhere, waiting desperately for us to do something, to find him. Little did I know that I would be sitting here tonight, still battling this loss, 16 years later…
Suffice it to say, it was a rough time. From the very beginning, they gave us no hope of finding him alive. The story broke in Baton Rouge, and theories ran the gamut from him being a victim of piracy (those were the Miami Vice days – cigarette boats and drug running and all that) to him fulfilling his oft-repeated quip, “One of these days, I’m going fishing and I’m not coming back.” A local political figure – one of dad’s friends – actually flew down there and searched the deserted islands for any sign of life. Nothing. We hired a private investigator for as long as we could afford him – about a year – nothing. More good news – the boat he was in was made the year before they began lining the insides with foam, so the hull would float in case the vessel capsized, which meant that there was no hope of finding the boat if he had actually gone under. And then we were hit with the series of clinchers that broke my mom and formed my resolve to find out what happened – first, the Coast Guard’s official position is that the trip between Dania (just north of Ft. Lauderdale) to Bimini in a 21’ outboard is impossible. Oh, really? I’ve personally made that trip 3 times before the age of 16. Then Dr. Huh, a family friend and a great man, did some meteorological investigation. According to his findings, on the estimated day of departure, December 9, and the estimated time of departure, along with the speed of the Gulf Stream and other climatological evidence, he concluded that my dad would have made it half-way to Bimini before encountering a frontal system. The assumption was made that he tried to turn around to avoid the storm and was swamped by a wave (which is total crap – NO experienced boatman would have turned around in a storm – you have to keep the bow to the waves or you’ll be swamped.) We eventually had to have him declared legally dead – lost at sea - in order for my mom’s assets to be unfrozen so that we could continue to eat. To add insult to injury, my mom had to sell my dad’s gun collection while all this was going on so that we could survive – being taken advantage of in a crisis of that magnitude is… nauseating. Oh, and the IRS helped tremendously – they imposed full penalty for Mom cashing in their CD’s and IRA’s to catch up on bills – capital gains, early withdrawal penalties and all that… disgusting, absolutely disgusting.
There’s more – much more – but you get the gist of the story. As time passed, I would return to the camp and add another message to the note left so long ago – stuff life, “Dad, I miss you. Please come home.” “Dad, where are you? Please don’t leave us. Please come home.” You get the idea. Eventually, you cope as best you can, and you decide in your mind what happened. As his daughters, my sister and I believe he is still alive and fishing somewhere. It is my life’s goal to find out what happened. As his wife (and having been a wife, I hold a better appreciation for what she went through), my mom believes that he is dead. Better that than believing that he abandoned her and their children. We each coped in our own way, and life moved on. Kind of.
Fast-forward again to August 2006. Here I am, in Florida, fighting a love-hate relationship with the Atlantic Ocean. The first 3 times I went to the beach, I broke. Angry and sobbing, and still trying to love the Lord and keep my heart open to Him, I confronted my grief head on. Then something crazy happened. I went to the beach yesterday, and the place was absolutely teeming with life. Beaches are usually (sorry to be brutally honest) littered with dead things – shells that were once homes to creatures, dead fish, dead jellyfish, dead seaweed, etc. Not this time.
I wandered for a couple of miles, looking for shark’s teeth, and slowly began to look around. I was astounded to see life all around me. Birds of all kinds – sanderlings, willets, sea gulls, pelicans – a starfish, thousands of mollusk-like shellfish burrowing into the sand after every wave, sand fleas, minnows swimming back to sea after being washed up by the waves, dogs, horses, children playing, people smiling and laughing – life was everywhere.
Something shifted inside my heart. A place that has represented death, bitterness and loss to me for 16 years now teemed with Life.
There are so many things that have gone awry in my life… I need the Lord to show up in so many ways. Apparently, He wants to deal with one thing at a time. Of the many things that He wants full access to – and the thing I most want to give Him – is my heart. There is so much hidden there, hurting and desperate for Him.
I came to this place with a lot of expectation. He is excruciatingly slow in working things out in my heart and mind. The most focus and emotion has centered on my dad, so that is where we have to begin.
I want to tell you a story. It’s not a woe-is-me tale, and it’s not fiction. This is part of the story of my life, up to this point, although I believe there is more to this particular chapter – much more. I’ll tell you what I know as of tonight, but to do that, I have to bring you back to my childhood.
Author’s note – I am telling you facts – if they seem cold, it’s because dealing with facts has become one of my coping mechanisms – that and sarcasm... The Lord is dealing with that.
Ready? I’m not sure if I am either, but here goes… this has been a long time coming. 16 years, almost, but I’m getting ahead of the story…
I grew up spending my summers in south Florida. Every summer, my mom and dad and us 2 girls would load up entirely too much stuff into our station wagon, hitch up the boat, and off we’d go on a 3 week vacation. We’d wind our way south through Florida, stopping at out-of-the-way places like Wickeewatchee to watch live mermaids and Wakulla Springs to hold hands with some brave boy to jump off a diving platform into the crystal clear and icy cold water 15’ below. Of course, we’d do the Disney thing, and the Busch Garden thing – glass bottom boats are the bomb – and we’d go to really cool places like Tarpon Springs and the Everglades and – how cool is this – to Venice Beach to search for shark’s teeth. Of course, the ultimate destination was always the Keys – Marathon, to be exact. As much as we loved the cool stops along the way, we could not wait to get to the Blue Waters Motel on Marathon Key. We’d unhook the boat (I was always daddy’s little girl and could pretty much handle a 21’ boat by age 9 or so) as soon as we got there. Then came the traditional first night’s swim in the pool with Dad, and then we’d be on the water at first light.
There are so many memories, like a night-blooming cactus and flip-flops melting on the blazing hot asphalt, striped butts from tanning through swimsuits and holding my breath as long as I could underwater in the pool, but most of them center around the ocean. My dad was an avid fisherman, and being daddy’s little girl, so was I. We were also avid divers. The coral reefs were places of high adventure and close calls – from almost drowning to near misses with sharks and barracudas, to great fishing and phosphorescent algae glowing behind the boat at night. To say that I loved it there doesn’t even come close. I was at home there. I belonged. I’d sit alone at the end of the jetties late at night, watching the stars falling, in awe of the world and all that life had to offer.
Fast-forward to the summer of 1990. I was 17 and a real pain in the ass to my parents. We deviated that year, going on a road trip to the Rockies instead of going to the Keys. Both my sister and I were typical teenagers – boy-crazy, not so parent-crazy, and independent to a fault. The trip, although strewn with beautiful memories, was, by far and large, a huge disaster. My sister and I couldn’t wait to get home to our boyfriends, and my parent’s couldn’t wait to get away from us. Oh, did I mention that my sister had a baby in April of 1989? So, in addition to me and my sister’s complete disinvolvement, we had a toddler along for a 3 week road trip. It was not much fun – for any of us.
In the midst of all this turmoil, my dad, for reasons still unclear to me, had become very unhappy with his work as a photographer for the paper. He used to cover the LSU games, squatting on the sidelines, taking incredible shots of the Tigers in all their glory. Well, he was in an accident one day; as a passenger, he saw it coming and responded instinctively by trying to hit the non-existent brake. He broke every bone in his left foot, and was unable to cover the games anymore. He did special features on local chefs, local coverage, stuff like that, but eventually became very unhappy with changes within himself and his work environment. He decided to retire that year to become a freelance photographer. His idea was to cover the 500th anniversary of Columbus’ arrival in the new world by tracing his voyage through the Bahamas and Bermuda. The idea was to publish a photographic documentary in 1992, and to begin a career as a freelance photographer.
So, in late November 1990, he left for our fishing camp in Mississippi to get all his gear and the boat ready for the trip. I was supposed to meet up with him, having gotten special permission from school to go with him. A week or so later, a friend and I went to the camp, hoping to catch up with him to finalize plans for me to meet him in Florida. We missed him. I wrote him a note, on the off-chance that he would return prior to heading on to Florida – that will become more relevant as the story unfolds. On December 7, he called home, looking for me. I was not there – I had gotten into a fight with my boyfriend and was late getting home that night. That was the last time we heard from him.
On December 13, my mom’s birthday, he did not call. I began calling one Coast Guard office after another, trying to get to the “appropriate” office to report him missing. My mom and sister were either in denial or paralyzed – I’m not sure which, but I took charge and gave many an agency hell, trying to convince them of his expert boatmanship, his familial responsibility and love for his wife – all of which pointed to something having gone terribly wrong. (You think I’m passionate and bold now – you should have known me back then – it was pretty crazy.) We finally got in touch with the Coast Guard in Broward County, and were told we reported him missing too late – that the search area was too large to hold any realistic expectation of finding him. They found his truck and trailer, but no one who actually saw him leave in the boat. He never checked into customs at Bimini, the closest island in the Bahamas to the US mainland. They traced his credit card activity and his traveler’s checks – and froze my mom’s assets. (“Standard procedure during an investigation, Ma’am…” – this as she tries to continue to pay bills and feed her family while her husband is lost at sea…) I even went as far as calling Unsolved Mysteries – it was in its prime back then – to ask them how long it would take to air the story. I was told 3 weeks, minimum – I hung up, telling them that 3 weeks was too long to wait for answers – that he needed help right away. In my mind, he was somewhere, waiting desperately for us to do something, to find him. Little did I know that I would be sitting here tonight, still battling this loss, 16 years later…
Suffice it to say, it was a rough time. From the very beginning, they gave us no hope of finding him alive. The story broke in Baton Rouge, and theories ran the gamut from him being a victim of piracy (those were the Miami Vice days – cigarette boats and drug running and all that) to him fulfilling his oft-repeated quip, “One of these days, I’m going fishing and I’m not coming back.” A local political figure – one of dad’s friends – actually flew down there and searched the deserted islands for any sign of life. Nothing. We hired a private investigator for as long as we could afford him – about a year – nothing. More good news – the boat he was in was made the year before they began lining the insides with foam, so the hull would float in case the vessel capsized, which meant that there was no hope of finding the boat if he had actually gone under. And then we were hit with the series of clinchers that broke my mom and formed my resolve to find out what happened – first, the Coast Guard’s official position is that the trip between Dania (just north of Ft. Lauderdale) to Bimini in a 21’ outboard is impossible. Oh, really? I’ve personally made that trip 3 times before the age of 16. Then Dr. Huh, a family friend and a great man, did some meteorological investigation. According to his findings, on the estimated day of departure, December 9, and the estimated time of departure, along with the speed of the Gulf Stream and other climatological evidence, he concluded that my dad would have made it half-way to Bimini before encountering a frontal system. The assumption was made that he tried to turn around to avoid the storm and was swamped by a wave (which is total crap – NO experienced boatman would have turned around in a storm – you have to keep the bow to the waves or you’ll be swamped.) We eventually had to have him declared legally dead – lost at sea - in order for my mom’s assets to be unfrozen so that we could continue to eat. To add insult to injury, my mom had to sell my dad’s gun collection while all this was going on so that we could survive – being taken advantage of in a crisis of that magnitude is… nauseating. Oh, and the IRS helped tremendously – they imposed full penalty for Mom cashing in their CD’s and IRA’s to catch up on bills – capital gains, early withdrawal penalties and all that… disgusting, absolutely disgusting.
There’s more – much more – but you get the gist of the story. As time passed, I would return to the camp and add another message to the note left so long ago – stuff life, “Dad, I miss you. Please come home.” “Dad, where are you? Please don’t leave us. Please come home.” You get the idea. Eventually, you cope as best you can, and you decide in your mind what happened. As his daughters, my sister and I believe he is still alive and fishing somewhere. It is my life’s goal to find out what happened. As his wife (and having been a wife, I hold a better appreciation for what she went through), my mom believes that he is dead. Better that than believing that he abandoned her and their children. We each coped in our own way, and life moved on. Kind of.
Fast-forward again to August 2006. Here I am, in Florida, fighting a love-hate relationship with the Atlantic Ocean. The first 3 times I went to the beach, I broke. Angry and sobbing, and still trying to love the Lord and keep my heart open to Him, I confronted my grief head on. Then something crazy happened. I went to the beach yesterday, and the place was absolutely teeming with life. Beaches are usually (sorry to be brutally honest) littered with dead things – shells that were once homes to creatures, dead fish, dead jellyfish, dead seaweed, etc. Not this time.
I wandered for a couple of miles, looking for shark’s teeth, and slowly began to look around. I was astounded to see life all around me. Birds of all kinds – sanderlings, willets, sea gulls, pelicans – a starfish, thousands of mollusk-like shellfish burrowing into the sand after every wave, sand fleas, minnows swimming back to sea after being washed up by the waves, dogs, horses, children playing, people smiling and laughing – life was everywhere.
Something shifted inside my heart. A place that has represented death, bitterness and loss to me for 16 years now teemed with Life.
8.04.2006
released
i've been begging God for months for a vacation - or, more accurately stated, to be able to go away, to a quiet place, to be alone with Him. well, He's finally released me to go, and i have an odd sense of quiet expectation.
i have not been sleeping well lately, and stayed up late again tonight. when i finally had enough of tlc's medical mysteries, i went to bed and decided to read awhile. i'm re-reading "waking the dead" by john eldredge - some books need to be read time and time again, they are just so full of Truth and Jesus. listen to the part i read tonight:
Walking with God leads to receiving his intimate counsel, and counseling leads to deep restoration. As we learn to walk with God and hear his voice, he is able to bring up issues in our hearts that need speaking to. Some of those wounds were enough to break our hearts, create a rift in the soul, and so we need his healing as well. This is something Jesus walks us into - sometimes through the help of another person who can listen and pray with us, sometimes with God alone. As David said in Psalm 23, he leads us away, to a quiet place, to restore the soul. Our first choice is to go with him there - to slow down, unplug, accept the invitation to come aside. You won't find healing in the midst of the Matrix. We need time in the presence of God. This often comes on the heels of God's raising some issue in our hearts or after we've just relived an event that takes us straight to that broken place, or waking as I did to a raw emotion. - pp 140-141
as much as i know this is a much-prayed-for affirmation that it's ok, nay, it's necessary, for me to go away, i also know that someone out there needs to read these words - which is why i'm writing at 1:45 in the morning. read them again, and let His love surround you and release you.
i have not been sleeping well lately, and stayed up late again tonight. when i finally had enough of tlc's medical mysteries, i went to bed and decided to read awhile. i'm re-reading "waking the dead" by john eldredge - some books need to be read time and time again, they are just so full of Truth and Jesus. listen to the part i read tonight:
Walking with God leads to receiving his intimate counsel, and counseling leads to deep restoration. As we learn to walk with God and hear his voice, he is able to bring up issues in our hearts that need speaking to. Some of those wounds were enough to break our hearts, create a rift in the soul, and so we need his healing as well. This is something Jesus walks us into - sometimes through the help of another person who can listen and pray with us, sometimes with God alone. As David said in Psalm 23, he leads us away, to a quiet place, to restore the soul. Our first choice is to go with him there - to slow down, unplug, accept the invitation to come aside. You won't find healing in the midst of the Matrix. We need time in the presence of God. This often comes on the heels of God's raising some issue in our hearts or after we've just relived an event that takes us straight to that broken place, or waking as I did to a raw emotion. - pp 140-141
as much as i know this is a much-prayed-for affirmation that it's ok, nay, it's necessary, for me to go away, i also know that someone out there needs to read these words - which is why i'm writing at 1:45 in the morning. read them again, and let His love surround you and release you.
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