Who's driving the boat?

He had wanted a boat for a long time.  So when his mother passed away in 1997 and he received some funds from the sale of her New Jersey home, he decided that he would buy a boat.



The Manatee - 1997-1999

It was late October and Rich Suhey and I had a great time shopping - looking - thinking and finally he found the boat he wanted.  I'll never forget the day we came to Julington Creek Marina and picked it up - making our way through Julington Creek to the St. Johns River, under the Buckman, waiting for a train that was crossing at the Acosta and then getting gas at River City before continuing under the Main Street and all the way around to where it would be docked in the Arlington River at Colonial Point where I owned a condo.  Rich knew a lot about cars and motors, but this was a tad different.  We laughed a lot that day.

And we enjoyed the boat.  It was named the Manatee and I kept telling him we should change the name but we never go around to it.  In March of 1998 we stood on the deck and vowed to love and cherish each other for the rest of our lives.  It was such a happy time for both of us.

One lovely Saturday we invited my parents to come with us for an afternoon cruise.  They were in the galley and Rich and I were manning the controls on the upper deck when he decided to go down and check on them.

My mother - so Rich remembered - exclaimed - "who's driving the boat?"

They were a little surprised with his answer - "Paula".

She even had to take a picture.

That was a long time ago.  After Rich died I kept the boat for a few months but soon knew it was time to let it go.  I shared the proceeds with our children and the friend who helped me sell it,  You know that saying - "the best day in a person's life is the day he/she buys a boat and the next best day is the day it is sold".  That is how I felt - but I have never forgotten that boat.

In fact, I often find myself drawn to walk across the Julington Creek Bridge and look at the boats that are moored there.

And the fact that I could drive a boat?  It really wasn't that hard.  Could I have docked it?  Probably not.  But I could steer in open waters.

Sometimes it seems like my life is like a boat.  And I've gotten pretty good at being the captain. Mainly because I know that although I'm using my eyes to see where I am going and my hands are on the wheel - I am depending on God to do the navigating.

In 2001 my parents moved back to Jacksonville from the retirement area they had enjoyed in St. Augustine.  I was alone; my children were grown.  It was easy for us to sort of take care of each other.  That care became more and more me caring for them as the years went by.

A few weeks ago, my brother Jonathan and his wife, Tammie, decided it was time for them to get some of the blessings of having our mother so they invited her to come to live with them and she has accepted.

For the first time in 12 years I'll be captaining the boat - without a crew - or any passengers.

It's exciting - and strange - and curious and maybe a little scary.  I've had a crew (three children) and passengers (my parents) for more 30 years (since I became a single mother in 1982).  It will be interesting to see where my boat ends up.

I'm glad I know Who's driving it.



Fishers of Men Dock

It was our small group's privilege to cook dinner for our friends, John and Diane.  My responsibility was to pick up the bread and dessert from one friend and go to Fisherman's Dock to purchase shrimp for the salad that another friend and I were going to make.

Sounded fun and easy.  I'd never been to the popular San Jose Blvd. store that sells fresh seafood.  Besides I would have my six year old grandson with me.  He would think that was a fun experience.  Right?

Well, if not fun, memorable.

His reaction to the smell of fish - "disgusting".  He even said that it was good I bought shrimp and not fish because he could not ride in the car if we had fish. 

Later he told his parents that he had been to "fishers of men" dock.

We smiled.  He seems to know all about Jesus' suggestion to his disciples that he would make them fishers of men.

I remember that song from my childhood.  I can still see us standing in the Beginners and Primary Departments at Glendale Community Church pretending that we were fishing as we sang it.

I'm really grateful that my parents took me to Sunday School and Church and more than that, they shared the love of God and their faith with me and my siblings.

Many times in my life I have called upon that faith, including the songs and scripture verses I learned as a child to sustain me in a time of confusion, doubt or turmoil.

My life changed drastically in 1982.  I had felt "called" to be a pastor's wife.  That went away when my marriage ended.  No longer being a wife was bad enough.  Not being a pastor's wife was devastating. I read some verses in II Corinthians that said in essence some of the things that were happening to me, were happening so I could know the pain and be able to walk along side someone else who was experiencing hurt or confusion.

Almost without fail, when I have an opportunity to minister to someone in a similar situation I tell about some experience where I've been praying and felt my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling - but the faith that was instilled in me as a child...kept me praying.

It is a blessing to me that my grandchildren are being schooled just as I was, and as there dad and I did with them.  Like our parents did for us, our children take them to Sunday School and teach them about God's love.  I loved it that my grandson thought the name of the store was "fishers of men".

I also love it that I can still rely - on that faith that was instilled in me as a child - to sustain and encourage me.

What - me worry?

My father loved the 23rd Psalm.  In 2008 I asked about a Christmas gift and my mother made a suggestion.  She thought daddy would like something that would remind him of his love for that Psalm and I was delighted to find this on a shelf at a local Christian bookstore.  It sat by his bedside until he took his last breath on September 16, 2009.  He had lived 7 years since he was diagnosed  with myelodysplastic syndrome which was a form of Leukemia.  The day he died, his pastor, the Reverend Kevin Pound had prayed for him personalizing the 23rd Psalm. 

"We know that you are Earl's shepherd, that you have prepared a table for Earl and that Earl will be in the house of the Lord forever."

I'll never forget that afternoon.

Just over four years later, my dear friend, John Gates, a man that I lovingly call my "other" brother, was diagnosed with acute myloid leukemia. This is not John's first experience with that ugly word - cancer.  Because of the care and concern (not to mention the expertise) of his doctor, Alan Marks, M.D., and much prayer, determination and faith, John has fought and overcome its deadly attack twice in the past 15 years. 

While he was undergoing his first round of chemotherapy, a restless John prayed. He says that his prayer was answered when he heard these words clearly as a spoken sentence:

“John, consider the 23^rd Psalm”.    

So he began to recite that Psalm, one that many of us learned as small children and not only did it began to take on a new meaning for him, he took the time to write what he was experiencing. Here are a few of his thoughts.  

"The Psalm begins “The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want”.   A shepherd had the well being of his flock as his main focus.  My well being is important to the Lord.

"...a good shepherd takes his flock to good grazing green pastures and good water.  Sheep know their shepherd’s voice and will follow him, “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still water”.    This let the sheep graze to their content and grow fat with heavy coats of wool after the season of dry conditions with little grass for grazing where all livestock had it hard.   Thus “He restoreth my soul” has a clear meaning.  Sheep like people can be grumpy and will sometimes bite and fight with one another.  The shepherd would watch and not let this become serious; or, he would go and break up the argumentative sheep and drag them to different places so they would do what was right, “He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name sake”.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me”. 

"This was one of the main things the Lord wanted me to see and understand.  He was in charge and He was keeping me safe. 

His rod and staff were his main tools.  The staff, a  long stick with the curved end, fits around a sheep’s head or body and it is used to guide the sheep or perhaps pull one up from a ditch.    The rod was a long and strong pole and a shepherd knew how to use it even to the point of killing a wolf or other predator trying to take his sheep.    The sheep never had to worry about their safety, and indeed they did not know how to worry. 

"The Shepherd did all the worrying for them just as the Lord tells us to let him do for us. 

"Shepherds were also known for their simple kindness toward their flock. .  “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies, thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over”.   I do not believe it is possible to express a more clear picture of God’s love for us in so few and beautiful words as these. 

"I probably pondered this most of the night and was in and out of sleep, but I got my rest and my heart was joyful even in the middle of chemotherapy.   The message was so clear.  The Lord was saying “John, I love you, I have you in my arms, don’t worry I want the best for you.   Now you rest in this knowledge and let me take your worry”.

"During my four week stay in the hospital there were many nights that sleep would not come and I was pretty sick.  But each time I remembered the Psalm  I could see myself as that little lamb being cared for with special sweet grass and cool water,  and I could feel the Lord’s arms around me keeping me safe and sleep would come.

"I am so grateful for the Lord’s Grace and mercy during this hard time.  I do not deserve a bit of it but the Lord saw fit to give me his Grace.    The Psalm ends with “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever”. 

"The Lord works in his ways that we cannot understand.  However, He clearly wants us to understand that He does love us and wants the best for us, wants us to lay our worries on Him.  I am certainly redoubling my efforts to follow His will and not worry what lies ahead about but let the Lord do that."

I've edited what John wrote to some extent, but I believe I have left his message intact.  John Gates truly believes that the Lord is his shepherd - just like my daddy did - which is why I've shared daddy's shepherd  with him for as long as he needs it.  

 

 

Got it

Swish; Bam, Swish

Got it.

What?

The baseball leaves the pitcher's hand; the batter hits the ball; the fielders see it coming and at least two of them watch it as it descends ...

Got it!

Or

Brrrring; Brrring;  and someone says -

Got it

Or

After trying to find the answer to a math problem, pulling up a zipper that is stuck (or the outfit is too tight) or finding something that we thought was lost ...

Got it.

Long introduction to something I am thinking of. Only I'm going to add a word -

God's got it.

Most every morning one of the things I do is read an on line devotional thought that comes from The Upper Room, a United Methodist Church publication.

I read one recently that made me think of where I am today. It was written by a nine year-old boy. He said that as he was playing soccer, a game that he doesn't feel like he is good at, he realized that a good soccer player is willing to pass the ball away to his teammates even when that means he won't get the goal so that the ball is kept away from the opponent.

No doubt the boy had help with the devotional, but here's the sentence that I liked:  "God knows exactly where to direct me to help me to overcome life’s obstacles and reach my goal",

There is always a scripture reference and this time it was about David when he was getting ready to meet Goliath.  The Bible says that he told the giant what he was planning to do - including making a statement that "the battle belongs to God" and then he did it.  Later in the same passage are the words "No sword for David".

This tells me that David knew what I need to learn.

In my quest for discovering the next steps in my life, I have shared, prayed, read and listened.

One person who I listen to is my friend, Virginia Pillsbury -- She tells me "God's got this".

And like the little boy in the Upper Room story, like David who went on to be called a 'man after God's own heart' and like those fielders in a baseball game  -- I can say - "got it" or at least

God's got it!

PS Knowing that God's got it, does not take away my responsibility.  David had to pick up that stone and put it in the sling.





  

How 'bout a little bowl of grits?

What do you do when you are worried, sad, or just feel out of sorts?

When I am worried, I clean.  My children always knew there was a problem when they smelled Wrights Silver Polish.  I could rub that heirloom silver service with such a vengeance that sometimes one might fear I was going to remove the patina.

Or sometimes I bake or write in my journal or meet a friend for coffee.

If you know me - you are probably saying - are you always worried? True, my silver almost always looks shiny, I am often putting some thought on a page or the computer screen and I certainly am known to meet my friends for coffee OFTEN.

And now that it's just me, I don't bake unless it's for some sort of gathering.

And when I am sad?

I eat grits.

Grits are my comfort food.

I have written before about the mixed emotions I felt when my son, Tray and his wife, Kristen, moved to the Washington, DC area in 2002.  I was very happy for the prospects that lay ahead of them.  However, he's my baby and it was really hard to see him leave.  Actually, every time he left it was hard. When he went to college and came home for his first visit, I cried and said "please don't go".  Remembering that afternoon still brings a lump to my throat.

Bless that poor child's heart.

Back to the day they moved to Washington, Tray came to my parents' home to say goodbye to the three of us.

I'll never forget walking back into their apartment and hearing daddy say "how about a little bowl of grits?"

Four years ago today I wrote an I've been thinking that I called "How 'bout a little bowl of grits?"

A Hospice bed was home to my daddy.  He was drifting in and out of sleep.  Our family and friends were coming to say good bye.

I was very sad.

And I imagined that if he could he would be saying to me "how bout a little bowl of grits?"

The next afternoon at around 5:00 PM with some of us (including his pastor, the Rev. Kevin Pound) standing by his bed, daddy took his last breath.  I've often recalled that it seemed like he just sort of wafted out the window.

And when I am out of sorts?

Well, I'm a bit out of sorts these days. The memories of daddy just continue to flood my mind and bring tears to my ears (football season is a major culprit).  Realization that my mother, while healthy, is aging.  I'm not sure what direction my life is really going in.  In some ways I feel like Alice looking down that rabbit hole.

And what am I doing about that out of sorts feeling?

You are reading it!  Stay tuned.

"I have a deam"

I do not remember the now famous "I have a dream" speech. 

If you know me, you know that my saying I don't remember anything is a stretch.   I don't remember it because the plight of people whose skin was a different color than mine didn't seem to be a  consideration in my upbringing.  My siblings and I were taught to be kind to everyone - that was the "Christian thing to do". 

In the fifty years since that time, however, I have heard remarks from my dad that made me think he was a racist.   In fact I have been known to make disparaging remarks about him, saying that he was both a racist and a sexist only to be reminded by my children that "granddaddy was more a part of his generation than he was anything else" so I've learned to give him some slack rather than be critical of a father that I really loved and admired. 

And when I dig deep and remember the depth of love for others that both of my parents had, not to mention the way they believed in serving God, I know that we were taught that we are  all God's children.  

They even took us to Sunday school where we sang "Jesus loves the little children...red and yellow black and white - they are precious in His sight" and I think we meant it when we said it.

And then I read Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin who artificially darkened his skin to pass as a black man.  And I came to understand that some people, people who would be considered to be "good Christians", didn't really think that song we sang in Sunday school was true. 

When I was a junior in high school (shortly after the Walk on Washington when Martin Luther King, Jr. made his now famous "I have a dream" speech),  I wrote a short story about a the daughter of a plantation owner's friendship with with the daughter of one of the family's slaves. My teacher told me I was "dreaming", that would never happen. 

Was he right?  According to what we know about history - probably.

But that concept has never left my creative spirit - or my sense of God loving us all equally either for that matter.  I wrote another short story about a young white mother who had been widowed who fell in love with the black butler...and my idea was far from original.

The concept? We really are all the same.

Hum.

I remember vividly the first Martin Luther King holiday.  My children were in elementary and middle school.  I came home from work to find them saying repeatedly "I have a dream that some day my little black children will walk hand in hand with white children...".

And has that dream come true? I hope so but sometimes I'm not so sure.  I do know that the suggestion made in a song by Swedish pop group, Abba, makes a lot of sense to me.

"I have a dream, a song to sing  - To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale - You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels - Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels - When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream - I have a dream"

Sometimes dreams come true - but that's another story!

You have to own it

"Each time I write a book", says Maya Angelou, "I think, 'Uh, oh, they're going to find out now.  I've run a game on everybody and they're going to find me out."

I did some research to see exactly how many books Angelou has written and found at least 30.

Guess we haven't discovered anyone running a game when it comes to this renown author, poet, speaker, and who is, according to her website, a Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University (that's big to me; many years ago, a favorite pastime was walking on the campus of Wake Forest in Winston-Salem, North Carolina).

I think she's a writer - don't you?

How about Sarah Ban Breathnach, the author of one of my favorite books, Simple Abundance, A Daybook of Comfort and Joy.  In the pages of that book I read that after she had written her first book, she had a difficult time referring to herself as the writer of the book.

Breathnach was having a heart to heart with her sister, Maureen, who told her that  it was high time for her to own up to her talent.  Breathnach said that she had found comfort in thinking of herself as a wordsmith, not a "real writer".

My aunt, Beth Weitzel gave me this book many years ago.  I put it on the shelf thinking - I"ll read it one of these days.  Later a copy arrived from my friend, Deborah Fairchild Hansen and I thought "Hum - two people I value have thought I should read this...".  Better check it out.

So I did and it's been a daily encouragement to me - after devotional reading.  And sometimes, just like the words from Scripture help me, so do these words.

Especially this week the words  about owning my talent.

My what? Do I have talent?  I must.  At least others (my mother, my siblings, my children and other family members and now my friends, my peers and my editor) seem to think so and they have encouraged me beyond anything I ever dreamed.

I have written before of a writer's conference experience where I said "She's the writer" when talking about Deb Hansen.  She was a bit irritated with me as she said, "so why are you here?"

"Okay", I said, "I'm a writer".

I started saying it, told my children and grandchildren that when asked what their mother/grandmother does for a living to say "she's a writer", and I paid attention to what I was hearing.

So this is a formal acknowledgement .

I'm going to own it - I am a writer!

It's also a note of appreciation.  I would never try to name the people who have encouraged me in my quest to become a "real writer" but I so appreciate their support.  From  Ray to Rich to Coulter (with a couple 'of 'love interests' in between) and so many of  my family members and friends - especially Tamra, Sandy, Diane, Debbie, Virginia...you have me convinced.

So did the check that came from Beson4 publications :) and the contact pages on HealthSource, Mature Matters and North Florida Doctor - the ones that list the names of contributing writers and where I see the name Paula Huffingham-Suhey!