Following the Turtles

I recently rented a condo by the beach where there was a notice stating all porch lights must be turned off before bed. “It’s because of the turtles,” a resident informed me. It seems the dunes are full of turtle eggs, and when the baby turtles break through their shells, they head toward the sea. Lights from the homes on the beach confuse them and lead them astray.

Although I’ve never witnessed this inspirational migration back to the sea, back to their true home, I couldn’t help but think about the turtles and how much they have to teach me. Thinking of them breaking through the shells, I could almost hear the cracking that comes when we break through the confines of our old lives and enter the open space of new life. Imagining their first steps out of the shells and into the sand, I remembered the initial steps I’ve taken when venturing from the known world to the new, and as I pictured them making their way toward the sea, I marveled at their ability to know in what direction they should head, the direction of their true home. I also knew, too well, the danger of misleading lights that can lead one astray.

Long after returning from the beach, I’ve thought about the turtles. Like them, I want the courage to break through the shells that confine me and enter the unknown of new life. I want to take comfort in their relentless perseverance when the sand around me makes my steps difficult. And, most of all, I want to head toward the sea. Too often, I’ve headed toward the seductive lights on shore. More times than I can count, I’ve become lost. But in my heart, somewhere deeper than my clever, fickle mind, I know where my true home lies. Because of the turtles, I’m inspired to try again.

New Starts

Once a teacher, always a teacher. No matter how long it’s been, my heart races, my optimism soars, whenever September draws near. There’s something about a new school year that makes me profoundly grateful, even if I’m no longer headed to a classroom. Beyond the parents lumbering down the aisle with arms full of school supplies and children begging for the newest sneakers, is a joy that beckons me, once again.

It’s the promise of a new start, and it’s there for us all.

I can still remember going into my classroom early, cleaning the board, organizing my desk drawers, and throwing away the debris from the year before. I’d try to learn the names of the new students as I wrote their names in the gradebook then plan the year ahead as if I’d never taught before. More than all this planning, though, was the gift of being able to start over. I’m not sure if there’s a greater gift.

Like all gifts, though, it needs to be received and opened. There are those who refuse the gift because they are convinced new starts are only for the young. There are also those who allow others to determine whether they deserve a new start or not. It makes me sad to think about it. Life loses its pixie dust when I think of life as one long continuous line instead of the collection of new chapters in a one-of-a-kind novel.

Whether as a mother or father, daughter or son, business executive or stay-at-home parent, this could be the start of a new year. Whether as a company, church, school, or team, this is a chance to try again. Like the countless teachers across the country who are wiping away the markings from lessons past on their white boards, it’s time for us to do the same. What’s past is past. It’s time to start over. Thanks be to God, who extends this gift of a new start today, and always.

Running Free

In the early morning light, the wranglers departed to gather the herd for the many guests planning to ride in a few hours. There were no whips cracking, just accomplished horsemanship gathering even the most defiant steed. Soon, they were assembled in a large corral as bridles and saddles arrived.

Throughout the day, they performed their duty admirably, but the greatest moment had yet to come. Like children standing at the top of the stairs on Christmas morning, the horses waited for the gate to be opened at the end of the day. They needed no escort as they ran to the distant meadow. The sight never gets old, I thought to myself, and as the dust settled, I got lost in thought.

There are all sorts of corrals. Maybe it’s one’s family of origin, place of employment, church, or school. We assemble in all sorts of places and ways, and share common connections, purposes, or interests. So, too, bridles and saddles come in all shapes and sizes. “We don’t say things like that,” someone might point out. “That’s not how we do things.” “You report to me.” I understand the benefit of gathering and appreciate the rules (written and unwritten) we create, but something deep within me wonders what life would be like if we were able to run free?

I consider myself a spiritual, creative person. Sitting there, I couldn’t help but wonder where I’d run if the gate was opened:

What would I write if I didn’t consider my audience?

What would I paint if no one would see it?

What would I sing if no one was listening?

What would I do for a living if money (and social status) was no a factor?

Where would my faith lead me if I didn’t go to church?

Who would I be if I stopped caring about the opinions of others?

Where would I run if I ran free?

Such thoughts were as unsettling as they were exciting. Climbing off the fence, I listened to the horses talking to one another in the distance. It sounded like laughter. I’ll bet that’s how we’d sound if we followed our bliss, to quote Joseph Campbell, if we were our true selves, if we were truly free.