To Just Be - Meyer

The feathery clouds enhanced the blue, blue sky domed over the deep turquoise and indigo waters of Lake Huron. The horizon curved gently to the right and the left, toward the shoreline. In front of me the crimson-to-orange sumacs swayed in unashamed exhibition of grandeur while the dark green pines framed the whole picture with their unwavering consistency. The constant shlip-shlap of the waves echoed slow whispers of peace (shlip) that flowed gently into my consciousness and the seeping away (shlap) of the tensions of the past weeks. Shlip-shlap, shlip-shlap—ah-hh!

After September’s rush of committee meetings, planning sessions, doctor’s appointments and the last-minute details of getting a book through it’s final birthing pangs into the hands of the delivery room “doctors,” a Thanksgiving weekend at the cottage seemed timely and appropriate. The first day, although my body leaned back on the lawn chair, my spirit insisted on sitting on the edge, tensed, ready to spring into action at the next call for action. Not quite imperceptibly, my fingers drummed impatiently on the arm of the chair. Almost audibly, I heard the voice of my first husband encouraging me to learn to “Just be.” It was echoed by the hand of my present husband, aware of that tense part of me, stroking my hand to encourage the same learning. (Two wise and wonderful men seeing the difficulty I have in learning to be rather than constantly do, must tell me something.)

On the calm and gentle waters of the lake, a Sea-do raged onto the scene. The rider with great skill and abandon roiled the water, crossing his own wake and dashing against the waves with frenzy and fury. At times the engine threatened to cut out, but the pause was only momentary. Away he would roar again—round and round and back and forth, riling the calm waters which fanned in an ever widening vee behind him. All his noise and turmoil seemed to affect only a small portion of the great expanse of water and very quickly returned to peaceful lapping when he tired of his play. He had not gone far, and probably saw only what was immediately in front of him.

A little later, two kayakers quietly sliced their paddles through the water and passed with tranquil grace to the north. Probably almost an hour later, they slipped quietly past again from north to south. Some of their attention, no doubt, was on their paddling, but I dare say they saw many features of the shoreline, the birds that flew overhead, the autumn colours on the way, the different cloud formations in the sky. They felt the tug of the water against their paddles. the occasional splash of water, the breeze against their faces, the smell of the water. They must have absorbed the peace of an autumn day, the thanksgiving of the season.

It set my mind to wondering. I wonder if the first fellow on the scene went back to shore content and full of satisfaction, or did he restlessly look around for something else to do? On the other hand, I would like to think the kayakers may have reached shore with probably tired muscles, but a deep satisfaction of having really seen and experienced God’s wonderful world. I would like to think that they were quite ready and willing to just be.

Then I wondered, “Which represents my life, and how can I learn from the two-act play I just witnessed?”


Ruth Smith Meyer
http://www.ruthsmithmeyer.com/
Author of two novels:
Not Easily Broken and Not Far from the Tree