Be still, and know . . . (Psalm 46:10 KJV)

One thing I love about boating, besides the solitude is the pace. We are moving, but we are still at the same time. The boat carries us along the waterway, and we can sit and observe and get to know our surroundings.

When Les suggested that we complete a section of the TenTom Waterway, I asked if there were any interesting sites along the way. And he said, “Not that many.” I was a little disappointed, because I like to explore new and unusual places. He mentioned in passing that we might be able to tour a snagboat. It sounded interesting enough, and I’m glad we took the time to see it.

Yesterday, we stopped at the Tom Bevill visitor center, and toured the U.S. Snagboat Montgomery. The visitor center was housed in a reproduction of an antebellum mansion. The snagboat built in the 1920s was in service up until the 1980s. It was powered by steam and a paddle wheel. It was used to remove snags and dredge the river.

Also it was interesting to see how the construction of the third floor observation room in the mansion reflected a similar design as the pilot house on the boat. Both square with windows on all sides.

After the tour, we made our way through another lock, and settled in at the Columbus Marina. As I was pondering what to share in this post, I looked back at the photos I took. Many of included reflected images because of all the windows, and a mirror.

I never used to notice the reflections or shadows in the composition of my photos, but now I do. I wondered about this shift in my awareness. I attribute this ability to notice these elements to my practice of slowing down, of embracing a pace that allows me to pause. To really see and know and immerse myself in a place.

To really know something or someone, we need time, space and confidence to get closer, to observe and to notice. To see the texture and context of the setting becomes second nature. To imagine what it might have been like to live and move in these spaces filled my mind. How the crew of the boat lived together, worked together, and possibly reflected together on the nuances of life made me reflect on my own quality of life.

It’s hard to convey all that I experienced, as I wandered through the displays, the antiques in the house and the machinery of the boat. Yet, I can give you a glimpse of my “eye” through the photos. Here’s several of my reflections.

What causes you to reflect? What reflections have you noticed lately?

 

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
    From where does my help come? (Psalm 121:1 ESV)

We’ve been on the river for three days now. It’s been pretty much a relaxing time. We get up in the morning and enjoy our morning coffee and hot cereal. Oatmeal for me, grits for Les.

One of the preparations for the trip, when traveling with Kokomo, our reluctant, but amiable boat dog, is that we have to think ahead to where we might let her off to get her potty break. The first night, we landed the boat on a fairly steep sand bar, and Les and Kokomo climbed off the front of the boat, and sunk into the sand a little. After Kokomo sniffed around a bit, and left her mark, Les lifted her back on the boat. I coaxed her in through the front hatch window, wiping sand off her feet. Les climbed the small ladder, after hefting the anchor back on the bow, and I gently backed the boat off the sand bar. Nice teamwork!

Next we dropped anchor in a quiet inlet, except for the mooing cows, a machine pounding in the distance and the whistle of the lock and dam. (We made it through the Howell Heflin lock earlier in the day, with a little wrangling of the boat, and wrestling with our expectations of how smoothly the operation should go. (Les and I think differently, literally.) He thinks in linear, spatial, logical ways and I feel my way through situations; problem solving and improvising as I go.) This can lead to heated conversations, especially when neither one of us wants the boat to bang into the side wall inside the lock.

Part of our struggle occurred because I was trying to hold ropes, and take a picture at the same time. Once Les got his rope secure, he came on the back of the boat to give me pointers on how to get the boat settled. I did get a little bent out of shape, but once we waded through our various ways of looking at the situation, I asked him to please take the picture. And he graciously did.

Later that day, I had to admit to another mistake. I tied the boat to the dock using the back rope first. Les reminded me that I should use the mid-ship rope first, and I retorted, “You never told me that before.” And he just looked at me, patiently explaining that we have more control when we tie off the middle rope first. I apologized immediately because, he was right. And I did know that, I just forgot.

We anchored near a state park last night, and enjoyed a balmy breeze while Les grilled chicken off the bow.

One of my favorite things about boating is the solitude we enjoy. We tend to travel during off-season, and this year we decided to travel upstream, so we have had the river mostly to ourselves, and our little pit stops allow for us to enjoy the quiet. We found a secluded little dock, where white lilies greeted us, and we had time to brew a second cup of coffee, while the dog wandered around the grassy knoll. Little conversation, yet we communed together sipping coffee and enjoying the greening of spring.

Today, we were heading to a marina, after two days being anchored out each evening, we looked forward to a hot shower and shelter under a covered slip. (Rain is in the forecast.)

In the morning, we heard two tow captains on the radio. One asked if the other one could get past him, because apparently the first one was out of gas. The second one asked if there was anyway they could help. The distressed captain replied no, someone was coming. They conversed some more, and then the second one said, “Are you sure? We want to help, if we can.” Some how that phrase hit a chord in my heart, because so often I resist help.

“We want to help you.” The we of the Father, Son and Holy  Spirit came to my mind. A little nudge. We WANT to help you. Not we are able, or we are willing, but we want to help. (I wish you could have heard the tone of  the man’s voice, it was just so beautiful to hear another human say, “We want to help you, if we can.”

I treasured that thought the rest of the day, and tried to remain more open to the help of others, even Les.

When we pulled up to the marina tonight, the marina manager was super helpful and seemed so happy to serve us. He just started working here, and it was obvious that he is proud of his work. It was a real friendly kind of day, and we made it through the lock without much fussing today.

One last conversation of the day. There is a restaurant that looked closed near the marina. After Les got back from checking in with the marina manager, I asked if they knew anything about the restaurant. Les replied, “They didn’t recommend it.”

Have you overheard or had an interesting conversation lately?

 

 

“Set your affection on things above . . .” (Colossians 3:2 KJV)

Hello, Random Journal Friends! Thank you, Dawn for getting us back together.

If you’re new here, a few years back I met Dawn and her band of merry journal keeper friends through her monthly Random Journal Day. Each month, we would randomly (or not) choose an entry from our past journals to reflect on and share a part of our journey.

When Dawn mentioned that she was having the reunion, I was super excited AND getting ready for one of our boat trips. So, all my past journals are back home! However, I did bring a journal that I started in January 2018, and its first and only entry was some musings about a book that I borrowed from the library. The book is called Write Your Heart Out by Rebecca McClanahan.

Rebecca’s thoughts and ideas for journaling are very much in tune with what I think of when I keep a journal. It was January, and I was retreating from winter. Here is my offering for Random Journal Day Reunion:

Sifting through and releasing the tension of living in this world and longing for another. To be part of a play, a story, a grand adventure, to get lost…I miss winter re-treat journals with magazine dreams and cozy little spots to think and muse and write and be prompted to imagine what otherwise I might neglect or miss.

A short entry, but packed with hopes, desires and memories of how I used to make winter re-treat journals. My journals continue to be a place where I pour out my heart, imagine new things, and practice creativity.

Often on our boat trips, I write posts for the blog called “The Intuition Diaries.” (If you search for “Intution Diaries” in the archives, you can read along with some of our past adventures.) Right now, we are anchored in a side channel off the Tombigbee river near the Howell Heflin Lock and Dam. You may wonder why we would be taking our time off to explore a river in Alabama. 1) It’s warmer in the south. 2) It’s part of a great loop that we are doing little by little. 3) Because we enjoy exploring new territory.

I like traveling on our boat. It is a retreat from the hustle and bustle of our daily life. For this trip, I made a matching set of journals that are bound together using a cut out notch in the paper and skewers. I plan to use these for capturing quites, collage art and sketching.

Today, I spent time creating collages and organizing my art supplies that I brought along. We had a wonderful day on the river, noticing the bluffs and all their texture, the hum of the boat cutting through the still river.

Many of our trips include exciting moments.

I am happy to report, we did NOT almost lose the boat while towing it to Alabama. When we stopped for dinner on the first evening, Les noticed one of the straps holding the boat to the trailer was dangling and the boat had shifted. Thankfully, the other three straps were secure and the boat didn’t bounce off the trailer. (We think the strap broke when we went through a rough pothole.) After dinner we drove on to Walmart in Holly Springs, MS to buy a replacement strap, groceries and “camp” for the night.

It was the first time that I didn’t complain about sleeping on the boat in a parking lot. This particular Walmart seemed to welcome travelers. A couple RVers parked with us, and even came over and admired our dog and the boat. One of the admirers told us that “We must have had something going on, and that we should never get rid of THAT boat.” Her comments stirred my heart, and I hoped that one day her dreams would come true again. She mentioned that she used to have it going on, but now she didn’t.

I am also happy to report that the rest of the trip has been very relaxing and uneventful, except that we lost one of my oldest beach towels. The wind took it last night. But that didn’t even phase me, because for some reason, I packed three towels for this trip.

And lastly I am happy to report that as part of the RJD Reunion, I am offering a giveaway of my little book, which I recently republished through CreateSpace. To win a copy of Defining Moments: Overflowing with Living Words, leave a comment below, and I will announce a winner by April 1^st. (Just kidding, I’ll announce the winner on April 2^nd.) Ha! I love an April Fool’s joke!

I look forward to reading the other RJD Reunion entries over here. Hop on over and see what other random offerings Dawn and her friends have for us.

Come back later this week for more from “The Intuition Diaries,” as we make our way up river to our next stop along the way.

Happy Spring!

Kel

 

Last night, I went to see the play “Purple Heart City.” It’s a new play, written by a local playwright, set against the back drop of the Cold Water Creek nuclear waste story. But it really is about broken people. So, I shouldn’t be surprised that I woke with a phrase about brokenness reverberating through my mind. What surprised me was that it was such a specific phrase, and that it was in German.

This is the phrase that came to me: “the vonderbrach.” I went back to sleep, and waking again later, the phrase pestered me until I got up to write it down. I wrote it down, and returned to sleep. In the dream, I milled about with people in a large, ancient castle that had been converted into a hotel.

When I got up for the day, I remembered the dream. The phrase seemed like nonsense to me, but I went online to see if the  word existed. All that came up were various entries in German. If you break the phrase down, it can be seen as von der brach.

von= from, by or of

der= the

brach= broken

“vonderbrach” meaning “from the broken” or “of the broken” or “by the broken” could describe the people of my dream. And my heart, too. So much brokenness in this world, and so little hope at times.

Then I remembered, a verse from the Psalms:

He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. (Psalm 147:3 KJV)

I am from the broken world, yet there is a promise of healing that comes from the broken One; by this brokenness we can be healed.

As we draw closer to the season of remembering Jesus, not only his resurrection, but also his death, this “vonderbrach” seems like a timely word to me.

As I left the play, I told one of the actors that I loved the story. He said, but it’s so sad. I said, but I love sadness. Sometimes we need to grieve all that is broken. Love, brokenness and grief are inseparable.

It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to hope, too.

What does brokenness mean to you? What brings you hope?

And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left. (Isaiah 30:21 ESV)

Have you ever considered taking a walk, as an art? The flaneur, is a person, who takes an idle stroll, preferably along a scenic river, like the Seine. This practice of flanerie seems well suited to city dwellers, where shops, cafes and book stalls are in close proximity. Some people trek in the mountains for recreation. Or others take urban hikes to their local museums.

If you live in the suburbs, taking a walk is something you do with your dog, your baby or maybe a friend. Suburbanites, as far as my experience, do not amble around the neighborhood for pleasure. Maybe for their health, they will take a walk, but they definitely don’t walk to the store or the library or the post office, because in most cases those destinations are at least a mile from their home. (I used to walk our boys to school, a couple streets over to the elementary school, but now the bus picks up the kids who live across the street from our house.) I am not saying that suburbanites are less likely to walk than others, but when we walk it’s with intention. For instance, we walk to gain 2000 more steps on our Fitbit, to meet our 10,000 step goal for the day.

It’s all good. I like a good walk, whatever the reason. Almost eight years ago, I went on my first solo hike along the coast of Scotland. It was an ambitious route for a beginner. Twelve miles on a rainy day, in hiking boots that once wet and soggy gave me a nice big blister on my heel. Looking back on pictures from that adventure, I was inspired to take a local hike.

Last Monday, on a sunny, balmy February day, I crossed two streams carrying a few books, pocket change and my smart phone in my rucksack/purse thingy. The two streams were highways with rushing traffic passing under my path, and the books were to be returned at our local library.

I started out at a brisk pace. After crossing the main road to our subdivision, I loosened my scarf, as the sun warmed my face. I huffed up the hill, and the four library books started to weigh on me. I broke a sweat, and rearranged my bag because the strap was biting into my shoulder. I crossed one intersection, only a few blocks from home now. The library still several blocks away, or so it seemed. The chain link fence bordering the sidewalk threw shadows across my path.

At the library, I deposited my books, checked out another book, and paused at the vending machines, wondering if I would need sustenance for the rest of my trek. I decided that I could make it with my water bottle alone.

From the library, I headed downhill to St. Charles Rock Road and to my next destination. The sidewalk was barely a safe haven from the rushing traffic. Did most pedestrians feel this same unease, when I whizzed past them in my mini-SUV? And why did it feel like everyone was staring at me? (For most of my hike, I was the lone pedestrian.)

As I got closer to the corner, I felt intimidated about crossing the Rock Road. I cut through the gas station parking lot, and past the China Buffet and bus stop. The sensory benefits of this walk comforted me, like the warm sun on my face, the aroma of pizza baking at Pizza Hut, and pungent Chinese food simmering on the buffet. I noticed someone dropped their water bottle at the bus stop, and lots of trash smashed along the gutter of the street.

I crossed at the light by Petsmart, again feeling a bit vulnerable from cars turning off the main road. When the signal changed, I darted across the road looking in all directions, and sensing everyone was scrutinizing me.

As I made my way past Applebee’s, I came upon two pedestrians who were walking side by side on the sidewalk. Neither one made a move, so I had to step off the sidewalk to get past them. I arrived at Hobby Lobby to buy some adhesives for my photo album project. I stowed my purchases, and considered a pit stop at Subway for lunch, but decided I could eat at home.

On the way back, my confidence soared. Crossing the road wasn’t as intimidating, I stopped caring what the outside world thought of my intentional walking, and I noticed someone picked up the lost water bottle at the bus stop.

I met a couple more walkers on the way up the hill past the library. One was walking home from the high school. Another one, was a fast paced woman, who appeared to be on her lunch break. She breezed up the hill to get her steps in for the day.

The walk back seemed quicker, and I snapped a couple pictures of the “streams” I crossed. At home, I enjoyed lunch and I checked my Fitbit. I logged five miles round trip. Not bad for a suburban hike.

 

How does setting an intention help you? Share one of your most memorable hikes in the comments, or write about it in your journal.