(turtles)

This blog is dedicated to my amazing daughter, who promised she would read my blog if I wrote about turtles. Here you go, KatRu. Much love.


Turtles are beautiful.

Yes, they are, too.

Okay, you might not agree initially, but here me out.

Once upon a time, my family took a vacation to Charleston, South Carolina. Wonderful. We gladly made our way to the Charleston Aquarium. We oohed and ahhed through the baby manta rays and the tropical fish (yes, we found Nemo), admired the bald eagle, then descended into the depths to see the big tank. Sharks slid through the water along with angelfish and pufferfish. Divers fed the multitudes.

Then, I saw her, soaring through the salty waves. The ballerina sea turtle. She glided effortlessly through the channels of sea creatures, making her way around the tank, smiling at her admirers. I was transfixed. So beautiful. She was green and blue and shimmering silver. She was an angel, a butterfly, a mermaid.

My family gathered around me. I thought they were equally inspired. Alas, they were just hungry. It was time for lunch. I waved good-bye to my newest treasure. We rode the escalator to ground height and traversed towards the exit sign. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a large shell. I began to walk towards the walled section and peered over. There was my new friend. She was beached.

Instead of her incredible sea show, she trudged around her pen, gradually making her way to a patch of green through the stony path. It was taking forever. It was painful. Slow and painful. I felt like crying at the transformation. My family proved insensitive to my plight, however, and came to retrieve me so that we could fill our tummies.

I could not get the thought of the turtle out of my head, the beauty of the sea and the beast of the land.

She reminds me of myself.

I'm a land-bound turtle.

This life is hard. Progress is slow. I feel clunky, burdened by my protective shell, the shell I want to crawl into when I can't seem to find the strength to slide out of bed. My own body works against me as I strive towards my goals. How I long for the sea! A place of freedom, openness, sweet soaring, technicolor blooming and flying all around.

But God knows. He knows that I am an amphibian. He knows when I need gnarly land and rolling sea. There is purpose in both. Those flying muscles are built on the land. There are land lessons that I need before I can be released in the ocean. These are painful things to type, but so true, so real. Good reminders.

So the next time you see a turtle, you may want to take in the beauty. I know I will.

(real)

Today I had a conversation with an addict.

It was one of the most real conversations I have had in a long time.

See, when you reach bottom, the absolute end of yourself, you have to get real. You are stripped of the things that insulate you against the world, the hurt, the labels, the fear, the monotony. There is nothing left to hide behind, no where to run, no one else to be. You have to face your life, your fears, yourself. It is not easy or pretty. It's hard work. It's long work. But it's supposed to work when you work it.

The thing is, I live in a very polite place. We are very nice to everyone. We smile and greet one another. We are careful not to burden anyone with our problems.  So, how do you minister to people who are always "fine"? How do we "carry one another's burdens" when we don't know what the burdens are?

The thing about the gospel that makes people very uncomfortable is the neediness. The truth is, we all need saving. We all need a Savior. We are not fine. As a matter of fact, we are all desperate. We are all addicts. That's real.

We are all sinners. That's real.

We do not have perfect children. That's real.

We all worry and fail and say dumb things. But if we don't reach and risk, we will never know deep love.

There came a time in my life that everything was stripped away. My world came crashing down around me and out from under me. My identity was shaken, my future unclear. All there was left in my life was God.

And I found that He was all I really needed. He was there for me when nobody, and I mean nobody else was. All those platitudes I had learned, all the smugness from growing up in the church, all the knowing what to say and do, none of that mattered, none of that gave me comfort.

I needed saving.

Desperation leads to authenticity. Coming to the end of yourself is not so much a disaster as it is a reality. There is an end, there are limitations, we all fall short.

Thank you, my dear addict friend, for reminding me what is really important. Thank you for being real.