I’ve spent a lot of time these first few days of sabbatical remembering things I’ve forgotten. In random order, here are a few:
The crash of the waves
The fact that snorkeling gear is the great equalizer—everybody looks dorky in a snorkel and mask.
How the world underwater is a hushed paradise.
My “little” brothers: how wonderful and amazing they have turned out to be.
What it feels like to be around people who have known and loved you since the day you were born. And they love you still, strangely enough.
How the Creator of the Universe is an artist of the highest order . . . colors you have never imagined together look masterful on, say, a parrot fish.
Skin pulled tight as the salt water dries.
Balloon fish—black with perfect white polkadots—my favorite.
Feeling small in a whole undersea world and remembering how small I am in the real world.
How much I have always wanted my children to run from tidepool to tidepool with their nets, exclaiming in glee.
The rough scrape of the lava rock on my bare feet.
Finding a sea cucumber . . . and bringing it up to the surface for my kids to touch.
Exhausted kids at the end of a long day on the reef.
Feeling the big strong presence of God and hanging on tight.
Why did I ever let myself forget?