Brain Coral and Sand dollars

There are too many parts of my last trip, which was to the Bahamas, to write about, so I’m just going to write about one of the my favorite parts. ;)

I went to the Bahamas to visit my friend Susan, who married a Bahamian. Yes, a Minnesotan married a Bahamian. Anyways, because we stayed with his family the whole time, for the first five/six days we didn’t do typical “tourist stuff”. Those days, for me, were the best part of the trip, although that could be because my sister and brother were there too….

We went camping on another island, Rose, for three days. Really roughed it, and it was a blast, long nights, lizards, no toilets and all! 

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We were on a boat, skipping over calm water. The wind whipped my hair and I could taste the salt spray from the bright blue water. The sun shone, and in places the water appeared darker. We didn’t talk much on the short ride out from the island to the reef.

Brett killed the engine and we drifted a short ways while Susan pulled out the rope and threw over the anchor. I helped her feed the rope until it hit bottom. Everyone passed around masks and snorkels, found flippers that fit and talked all the while.

The sun glinted off the edge of the boat as I peered into the reef. Although eager to get in the gorgeous water, I didn’t want to be the first one in out here in the unknown. Hey, there could be sharks... Eventually everyone had gear, and one by one we sat on the side of the boat, sliding into the water backwards.

The cool water closed around me, as did the silence. Suddenly I felt alone. I looked around for the others, and started kicking. The reef was both intriguing and beautiful, and a little bit eerie. I could vaguely hear noises of people kicking their flipper clad feet, and the sound of my own breathing through the snorkel tube.

 I smiled at Ange, the best I could while still holding my teeth around my snorkel, and waved. Both of us popped our heads above the surface and pulled the snorkels out.

“Did you see this?”

“Look at that!”

“Woah, did you see that piece of coral?”

“This fish!”

The coral was gorgeous, and way more intricate than I had imagined. Brain coral, that looked like a maze carved out of rock, and pretty purple sea leaves covered the bottom of the ocean, interspersed with fire coral, that Brett told us we’d better not touch. Brightly colored fish swam in schools all around us.

Amy popped up to the surface and pointed to a large brain coral. “Woah! Did you see that thing down there… someone has been down there carving!” Needless to say, she still hasn’t lived that one down.

Sucking in a big breath I dove down towards the edge of the reef and the deeper water, getting a close up look. I ran out of air and pushed myself up towards the surface, blowing hard to get the water out of the snorkel. Amy and I posed for an underwater picture.

Back under the water Brett waved us over, pointing out a weird fish that looked almost like a sea cucumber swimming upright. Above water he explained it was a relative of a sea horse called a pipe fish.  I think we had a million and two questions for him, “What’s this? What’s that?” and “How does the coral survive? What kind of fish is that?” and the all-important one, “What sharks do you have here?”

Brett had two spears and shooters, but none of us tried. Being used to Minnesota I was a little scared that if I did end up miraculously spearing something it would be something out of season. Apparently everything is fair game in the Bahamas. We watched him spear a blue jack and a crawfish, both of which we ended up eating for dinner. 

Pretty soon we started to tire out, and headed back to the boat. I sat soaking up the warm sun, enjoying how your muscles feel after a good swim.

“Derek, what did you find?” Kara says with her camera running.

“A butt! And Dory.”

“Ahh! He touched the butt!”

Mark pulled the crawfish out of a bucket by its long antenna and wiggled it in front of Kara. “Ahhhh!!  Get that away from me! That’s not on Nemo!”

After warming up we moved to a shallow, sandy part of the ocean. Four of us got back in the water to drag behind the boat, and look for sand dollars and conch shells (fyi, it’s really pronounced conk). I grabbed the yellow rope and held on next to Susan. The water rushed over my body as I gazed at the rippled sand.

Things didn’t go so well, although we found a lot of sand dollars we only found one conch, and it was just the shell. Every time Brett would get the boat moving one of us would see something and drop off, and then we’d have to start all over again. When the boat got moving faster, I would have a hard time keeping my mouth around my snorkel and it would fill up with water. I would come up choking, desperately trying to fix it without letting go. It didn’t work.

Finally, after too many times starting and stopping, starting and stopping, and a bucket full of sand dollars, Brett told us, “NO MORE sand dollars OR sunshine shells. You can eat conch… you can’t eat sand dollars.” (We ended up going hungry that night. Well actually, we ended up eating hot dogs instead.)

Susan was heartbroken over all those sunshine shells she was passing over. “I kept seeing gorgeous ones… and I couldn’t get them!”

Eventually we all ended up shivering and back in the boat, watching Brett kite surf. And laughing at Susan’s driving.  We drove back to the island for a long, cold, windy night. Haha, but that’s another rad story…..

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This was fairly hard... but I made it, even if it took me two days. Oh, and did I say sometimes I have a problem with rambling? 

I'm crabby

I'm crabby, and I don't want to write anything. period.

I read the Niagara Falls thing, and enjoyed it... but didn't think I had time to write a response. I tried starting two different travel stories... and didn't finish either.

My room is a mess, I'm tired from swimming laps, and even though I don't have "the fluffs" running around... I think a fog has rolled in, and I'm not sure what to do about it. I'm pretty sure I had some little thing that I was inspired by and could have written a paragraph on... but I don't remember it now. [go figure]

So. I quit. And I'm going to go eat a Fox Mint and read a fiction book. Good solution? I think so. ;)

Oh, actually.... if anyone has any suggestions for good reads.... send them my way!

Teaching the Teacher

It’s interesting how much teaching someone else can teach you.

Twice a week I teach 6 classes of swimming lessons. In 28 hours I teach for 8, and 12 classes. Sometimes it’s a really long haul, and other weeks it goes really fast (although a lot of it depends on the temperature of the pool). I’ve taught kids from the age of 3 to 17, a blind student, a downs syndrome girl and a couple of other special needs kids.

Besides the obvious, like learning to communicate clearly, and adapt to each of the kids learning styles, I’ve been taught so many things.

Finn and Ryhs taught me that I need to keep some order, and that some kids appreciate it. Devin and Kasia have taught me not to work people too hard. Sam taught me that every once and a while I need to relax and talk about How to Train Your Dragon, and that life isn’t all about vision.

Jake and Sara (and their mom) taught me how to deal with paranoid and nervous people, and give them strength, but push them forward at the same time. Regann has taught me that some people can be distracted from their stubbornness with a little creativity. Macy and Christopher taught me that some kids need the law laid down, and in a not so gentle way. Alicia (and quite a few of the other kids) taught me patience, and that some things just take time.

But I think, one of the biggest things I’ve learned, is to cut kids some slack. I’m not a very compassionate person, my friends and my little siblings can attest to that. My favorite saying is, “Just suck it up and deal with it.” Or to my two year old little bro, “You’re okay, be a man!”

Although it’s a truth that sometimes needs to be said, there are also a lot of times where someone needs a bit of compassion. Like little Kamryn last night, who didn’t want to put her mouth in for the ring. Yes, I know she can do it, and yes, sometimes she’s a little stubborn, but maybe she’s scared, maybe it’s hard for her. She is only three after all.

And…. It’s something God gives us. So…. It’s something we need to be able to pass on at the right times.

 “The LORD is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love” {Psalm 145:8}

“Though He brings grief, He will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love”

 {Lamentations 3:32}

It’s been hard to find the line, the line between pushing the kids so they learn and giving them some slack and mercy. But it’s something that I want to learn, because I love these kids. And I’m not using that word lightly. I’m really sad when some of them go, sometimes even the challenging ones [not always though], and I’m happy that some of them stay with me. I’m surprised, but I shouldn’t be, because I really think it’s just the love God is showing me coming through.

So although four hours in the pool a night gets long and cold, and I’ve actually found myself staring at the clock, praying for God to get me through, He’s used this for a lot of things in my life. And for that I’m very grateful, even if I do smell like chlorine….

Why aren't we?

"“There are so many bad things that we see down here, and we ask God why He doesn't change them... I can't help but wonder if He's asking us the same thing..." [To Save A Life]

I, just like everybody else, have wondered why there is so much pain, suffering and hurt here on earth. At one point, I kind of came to the conclusion that we'll never fully understand, that there are some things that we won't be able to comprehend.

Although there are things that we might not understand, in a way, that conclusion made me a little apathetic. Yes, there are some things that we can't change, like my friends dad who has a brain tumor, and that I don't understand, but not understanding shouldn't make me dispirited or unconcerned. It wasn't as if I “could care less, but yet deep down I figured there are some things that wouldn't change.

Last night I watched this movie, [To Save A Life] for the second time, and that quote stood out to me. Really, why aren't we doing? Instead we're just asking, someone else to do something. * Don't the scriptures promise that we can do all things with Christ? [Philippians 4:13]  But yet we, the Christians in America, as a whole, have become completely passive, when we should be the movers! As Shane Claiborne wrote, “Where are the true Christians? We are surrounded by passive believers and unbelieving activists." [The Irresistible Revolution]

Yes, there are some things we can't change, but there are just as many or more, we could change. Sometimes it takes a lot of effort. And sometimes, it doesn't take much. Sometimes little things go a long way.

I think we're asking the wrong question, instead maybe it should be what am I doing to change this world? To change my world? To change my neighbor's world?

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*I'm not saying we shouldn't ask God for things, or we shouldn't pray, that's not the point here.

Both a great movie and a great book, I highly recommend both!

Living Like Weasels - A response

[This was a really hard assignment for me. I'm not sure why, because I actually enjoyed reading it. But I wrote a story originally, and then thought it was weird, and not what I wanted to say, so I ended up with some thoughts. I'm not even sure they make any sense, but since I didn't really write anything last night, I'll just go ahead and post this. Feel free to rip it to pieces, 'cause I'm not attached. At all.]
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What would it be like if we lived by our senses and not by our brains? What would it be like if we noticed everything, but remembered nothing? What would it be like if we lived in necessity instead of in choice?

I think if we lived by our senses it would be both simple and chaotic. A weasel lives by his senses, his sense of survival, his sense of hunger, his sense of self. If we thought only of our senses, or lived only by them, everything would depend on our individual sense of survival. It would be an evolutionary world. We would live by reaction, seeing something and reacting in the way that would serve us best. We wouldn’t have friendships, but we wouldn’t have worries.

If we noticed everything and remembered nothing life would be full, but empty. We’d notice everyday things, we’d be full of the gorgeous little details in life, but it wouldn’t make us richer. We’d notice, but it wouldn’t fill our lives. What’s the use of noticing if it doesn’t make us safer, or happier, or more knowledgeable? A weasel notices everything in order to survive, but yet he doesn’t appreciate everything.

Of all the options, the most appealing to me is living by necessity instead of by choice. A weasel lives only by what is necessary, by only what he needs to survive. There’s no worry, but there’s no joy. Life would be simple and free of stress, but there wouldn't be joy. There wouldn’t be happiness in life. Is a weasel happy? Is it happy just because it is living, and its life makes it happy?

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Response to Annie Dillard's Living like Weasels

Summer

[I have a bad case of spring fever right now, which is not good considering the fact that the high today was 3. yeah. Anyway, this little.. {not sure what to call it} story (?) was my attempting at capturing the feels of a summer day. And boy I can't wait for one. haha]
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The sun was just coming over the hill, shining through the window, as she crawled out of bed. She threw up her hair and slipped into her favorite yellow skirt. Putting flip-flops on her feet, she grabbed her bible and a cup of coffee and in the quiet stillness of the morning sat on the porch.

She curled her legs under her skirt as she sat, drinking in the cool morning air and the fresh smells of growing things. Her arms had slight goosebumps on them, and she hugged herself.  She thought about things, about life, and about her God. After a half hour of quiet time, she went back into the busy house, where the family was loud, getting ready for the day.

Hoisting up the laundry basket full of wet clothes, she lugged it out to the clothes line. The morning sun shone over the roof of the house and in her eyes as she hung the clothes. She shook them out, pinned one side and then the other, and moved to the next piece of laundry. She hung the last piece and stacked the baskets next to the pole.

Later that day she played Frisbee with her friends, meeting them at the park. She kicked off her flip-flops and felt the grass fit between her toes. She pumped her arms, and moved her legs as fast as they would carry her, reaching for the Frisbee someone threw. They played until they couldn’t play any longer. No one cared who won, they just played for the rush. At the end of the night she had grass stains on her knees, dirt on her hands, and spent legs. She’d laughed a ton, smiled a lot and run until her chest hurt.

They sat around on the grass, exhausted and happy, talking as the night got cooler. She grabbed her hoody from the car, pulling it over her head and leaving the hood up. She stood leaning on the open car door, talking a little longer to a friend, soaking in the night.  

Soon she was home, ready to plop into bed in the dark. Her skin felt smooth against the cool sheets, and her head light against the pillow. The windows were open, there was a cool breeze against her face and she could hear the frogs chirping in the pond as she fell asleep. 

Home

I lay in my bed this morning, stretched out under my down duvet, warm in spite of it being winter and pleasantly wore out from teaching swimming lessons last night. I began thinking of the day, and remembered it was the first day of the month.

March 1^st. Oh no. What did I get myself into? Alright, I thought, this was my idea after all. I figured that I’d do an assignment today, just to get them over with. First one… nope, too much work for a Tuesday. Second one… um, too hard. Never mind. I’m just going to scribble today.

On second thought, my brain isn’t inspired, so maybe I’ll go back to that assignment list.

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I don’t consider myself a “home body” but yet, I really love my home. Driving down the long dirt road, coming home from work at night, I’m pretty eager to get home. Sometimes too eager, like the night that I backed over the snowbank, but that’s kind of a different story.

Despite the fact that our house is rarely still, much less quiet, it’s still a peaceful place to be. After a tough night, I can’t wait to get home. I might just flop in a chair and listen to stories of everyone’s day. I might join a couple of my siblings in the “big boys room” and watch a movie, but regardless it’s usually a perfect end to the day.

Home is where there is always someone to talk to, someone to play catch with, someone to cry on, someone to rant to. Home is where we talk about everything; our day, our struggles, our triumphs, our God. Home is where I learn, where I’ve grown.

In the physical it’s a farm, with chickens and goats, cows and rabbits. A farm that gave me muscles and a hard work ethic. A place where there is always new life, and a place where we learned about death. It’s a place where I learned to do stuff that I don’t like, and where I learned to love life.

It’s on a dirt road in the sticks of central Minnesota, where we walk half a mile to get our mail, and I run the hills. It’s a red house in a valley that’s always 5 degrees colder than the rest of Motley.

Home means lots of action and noise, craziness and good food. It means lots of haybales and trees and paths to find quiet time with God. It means a game of baseball or Frisbee. It means working out with my brothers, or watching them play Ping-Pong or practicing their pitching. But most of all it means love.

And that’s what draws me home at the end of a day, the love. And that’s why I’ll always come home.

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[To be completely honest I sat here and stared at this, not sure if I like it, or if it's good enough, or if it's the style I wanted, and then I realized that I was wasting time being scared. Scared of being the first person of the *whole* project to post. So I'm going to get over it, post this... and go make chocolate cupcakes instead of obsessing about this.]