First Post in Michigan

It’s the old story. I’ve been desperate to write. There isn’t time, there isn’t time. Suddenly, there’s time. Thursday afternoon. A long to-do list, but nothing urgent. Daddy’s at work. Kids are restless. It’s summer, and summer doesn’t last. So we pack up a few armfuls of supplies – towels, water shoes, cups and bowls and a shovel – and head out the door. Just yesterday we figured out that we can take “the shortcut” – a gravel road through the woods – over to the bike path, and from there we can catch a small trail that ends at the beach. Lake Huron, so mysteriously compelling through our window at night, is actually within walking distance. Amazing. We march merrily toward the sound of the water, wishing we’d put our supplies in backpacks, and before long our shoes are being filled with sand. We drop our bags and buckets in a heap and head for the water. The lake is cold. It’s still early August and as warm as it’s going to get, but still we squeal and skip as the waves catch our ankles by surprise. There’s a stronger than usual breeze blowing in over the lake, and the water heaves itself against the shore. I caution the kids – no going in above your knees this time. My cautions are unnecessary; today they’d rather build sandcastles. Jonah grabs a cup and begins to tote water up the beach to a dry spot. Emmalyn, sand clinging to her wet calves, sits and scoops sand into a bowl, patting it firmly. Isaac begins to dig.


I’ve come with good intentions of getting some writing done, but first I must take a peek at the rocks. We’ve not been at this beach before, though I suspect we’ll be back. Often, I hope. It’s fascinating how each stretch of shore has its own character. I can see Seagull Point from here, with its long stretches of grape- and plum-sized stones. In between there and here is a stretch of more traditional beach, sandy and popular with the locals. This beach is a nice blend of sandy and rocky. Soft enough to sit on, but rocky enough to be fascinating in all directions. Scraggly beach shrubbery helps keep the sand in place. The water is clear between the wavelets and gives me tantalizing glimpses of the smooth shapes and muted jewel tones below.

Scolding myself for once again forgetting to change into shorts, I roll up my capris to a ridiculous height and tug them still higher, glad that no one is around to witness my tacky fashion sense. My toes and ankles have gotten used to the coldness, and my knees don’t mind it much as I wade in deeper. I tell myself to look forward and enjoy the rolling beauty of the lake, but I can’t keep my eyes off the rock below. It’s my newest obsession, rock hunting. I blame our new friend Nonnie, who taught me just enough to get me curious. Now everywhere I go I look for rocks. I’m getting snobbish already. Not just any rocks will do. I want the good ones. What I really want to find is a Petoskey stone, Michigan’s state rock and a type of fossilized coral. I’d also be glad to find a pudding stone, an elusive Michigan specialty that looks like a cherry-banana scone. Emmalyn found one yesterday, and I’m totally jealous. The rocks in this spot are lovely. Through the water I see gorgeous colors, stripes and spots and swirls. It’s slippery walking over the stones, coated as they are with something greenish which I can only assume is a form of plant life. The waves push at my shins as I move slowly down the beach. I gather a handful of smaller stones and poke at a small crablike creature that’s clinging stubbornly to a rock.

The kids are still happily building. I drag myself away from the rock hunt and find a comfy place in the sand. Glasses on, notebook open, pen in hand. Finally, I have time to do some writing. But – it happens so often – I don’t know what to write about. It’s the old story. Finally, free time, but nothing to say.

And then I start to write, and . . . there’s so, so much to say. Because life is so, so fascinating. Every moment is a story, every glance reveals a masterpiece. Oh, what fun it is, what great and thrilling joy, to put those stories and pictures into words. What marvelous fun it is to write.

I’ve gotten so attached to the idea of writing as a devotional exercise that I had to see what the Bible had to say about writing. My search was not exhaustive, certainly – just a quick Biblegateway search. But what a lovely passage I discovered. First John (he’s my favorite Biblical writer, tho I’m very fond of Paul) 1:3-4 goes a little something like this . . . “That which we have seen and heard we proclaim also to you, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. And we are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.” Isn’t that just perfect? Ok, so it’s not talking about mama-on-the-shore type writing. But it does speak of the joy of writing, the satisfaction of sharing that which is important and the bonds that can be forged through the magic of words. And truly, the joy of writing is not complete unless it acknowledges the fellowship that we have with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ. There’s so much to write about, such a intriguing life and a beautiful world to share – but how much richer that sharing is when He who created life and He who redeems it are at the center of all our words.

A blog – a place to post little whatnots about daily life, an excuse to write. A fine idea. For me, now, perhaps, an opportunity to spend time with the words I love so dearly and to warm up my heart as I see what I don’t usually see until I begin to write . . . God’s always-there-even-though-I-don’t-always-see-Him presence in my life. I am writing these things so that my joy may be complete.