My oldest brother Jerry was a son, a brother, a husband and a father. He was also a science teacher, a basketball coach and a lifeguard. Even though I was only 10 years old when Jerry passed away, I have a ton of memories of him ... memories of an extra-special tree house, two adorable guinea pigs, cold and soggy cheese and mayo sandwiches, super scary high diving boards at the pool, chilly convertible rides to the fair, Jerry-scented blue button-down oxford shirts. One of my strongest memories of Jerry involves his classroom at the school where he taught ... I remember the large aquarium that sat against the back wall of the room, and I remember all the fish that swam back and forth in the water. Jerry would take me to school with him if he needed to work in the evening or on the weekend, and he would always let me feed the hungry fish in the big tank. And every time I did, he would say, "Just give them a little bit, Little Bit ... not too much ... just a little bit, Little Bit." I've wondered so many times down through the years how different my life might have been had Jerry been in it as I grew up.
Yesterday, a friend at work sent me an email about fish ... I know ... weird, right? She shared something from her daily devotional book, a story about the way a salmon swims upstream ... about how it appears to just jump in the air when in reality, it is facing straight on the challenge it needs to overcome. The salmon is facing straight on what is ahead of it, and when it does so, it makes progress. And then she told me I was a salmon ... pretty sure that's the first time anyone has ever called me a fish. I'm also pretty sure that I really wish I was the world-class salmon my friend likened me to ... I surely do.
Some of you may recall me writing about my outing to the Tennessee Aquarium when I was in Chattanooga in September visiting my family. You may also remember that I wrote about how I spent a significant amount of time touching the backs of several stingrays (and yes, I was the only adult who did so). I didn't, however, in my post about the aquarium, mention there were some other fish in the pool with the stingrays and that I touched those as well. Those fish weren't nearly as exciting as the rays because ... well ... because they never moved at all; they just laid on the bottom of the pool, and according to the employee who was monitoring me and all the little kids as we stuck our hands into the water, those fish rarely move. I was pretty fascinated by that revelation ... flounder don't swim very much, they just kind of stay in the same spot.
Over the last few weeks, I've been trying really hard to be a salmon ... to jump in the air, face some big challenges straight on and do my best to swim upstream. And I've made some significant progress in my attempt to "salmon-ize" myself, at least until yesterday. I took a beating last night (not a physical beating, but a verbal one), and all day today, I've been thinking in a huge way that I'm much more flounder than I am salmon. Last night, I didn't jump in the air or try to swim upstream at all ... last night, I laid on the bottom of the pool and didn't move even a little bit. Last night, I didn't salmon at all ... I floundered. And today ... today, I've had a difficult time believing I will ever find my inner salmon again ... today, I'm convinced that I'm destined to be a flounder from now on.
Everyone keeps telling me that God has a giant plan and purpose concerning this part of my journey ... I think this is one of those times when I need to hang my hat on God's Word, and God's Word alone.
"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." Jeremiah 29:11-13
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