As I write this entry, I’m alone on the swim dock, enjoying the sloshing and swaying of the lake. This is a peaceful, restorative place for our family, and our time here is one of our favorite weeks of the year. I’d be lying if I said we are completely happy, but we are trying. The last time we were here, we were all here. The difference this year is impossible to ignore, but we are doing our best to have fun. We are eating and playing cards, napping and reading, swimming and floating.
We are at the lake.
I love spending time in the lake, and one of my favorite things to do is float—just me and the water. No raft, no noodle, no anything. Over the weekend, the boat traffic graced us with good lake waves.
Time to float and think, to feel only water and hear only a muffled world.
Some waves are nothing more than ripples, hardly moving me as I float on my back. Oh, they gradually push me down the cove, but I can handle those waves. They barely register as I stretch out on the surface of the water, thinking. My wandering mind keeps wandering.
Other waves are more noticeable but still manageable, as long as I can brace for them—breathe out or hold my breath. They relocate me, but not violently. Instead, it’s an aqua break dance—the worm on the water’s surface. My contemplation must pause so I can focus on riding out the waves, but I’m still in control.
Then there are the powerful waves, the waves pushed in by bigger, faster boats or boats going too fast for the cove. Those waves could slam me into the dock, push me under the surface. It wouldn’t be hard. The thing with the big waves, though, is that I can see them coming from across the cove or out in the channel, so I can prepare. I can point the top of my head toward the waves, loosen up, and try to be ready. Even so, I end up taking on water as the waves wash over me, lifting my head off the surface and dropping me back down. Slamming me down. Those waves demand my acknowledgment. If I want to survive the waves, I have to work with the waves. Give in to the waves. Not give up, but give in.
Yes, I could get out of the water and weather the waves on the dock, but it’s harder to stand on a rocking, slamming dock than to greet the waves in the water. I could leave the water altogether, watch from dry land, but I hate to walk away from that which I love.
No, it’s better to stay in the water and take the waves as they come. I have always loved the water. I always will, even when it’s rough.
Vacation is different this year, the water rougher than we’ve known, but we are here, as many together as possible, at the lake.
Float on.
Woods Writes 