There are certain memories from my childhood that seem to grow stronger as I age rather than diminish in their intensity, or perhaps I am simply growing more nostalgic the older I become. One such memory involves a pond in the little town of Red Bank, Tennessee ... a pond that was covered in lily pads on one end and beautiful white ducks on the other. I'm sure the pond probably had an actual name, but for as long as I can remember, we just called it "The Duck Pond." And lots and lots of Sunday afternoons, Mom and Dad and I would take a bag of crackers or bread crumbs and drive to The Duck Pond so that I could feed the ducks. It's odd to me how vivid that memory is to me ... feeding the ducks at the pond while Mom and Dad sat on a blanket they had spread under a tree. I can see the bright orange of the ducks' bills and feet ... I can hear their squawking quacks ... I can feel the fear when too many of them would gather around my legs. I remember the Red Bank duck pond oh so well ... oh so well indeed.
I've written a lot about my evening walks on the trail ... walks that began with my little J.R. and that are now carried on with Oliver the wiener dog. Sometimes I wonder just how many hours and how many miles I've logged on that trail over the last three plus years, but I know it's a lot. And during all those hours and through all those miles, I've seen a lot of animals ... a whole lot ... both domesticated and wild alike. But for all the animals I've seen along the way, I recently witnessed something for three nights in a row that I've never seen before. In fact, it was so surprising to me the first two nights that I talked about it to Ollie the whole time we were walking ... yes, out loud, which explains why people look at me the way they do on the trail sometimes I suppose. Though I was keenly aware the first two nights that I was seeing a strange sight, it wasn't until the third night that I understood the huge, huge, huge lesson God was trying to teach me.
The first night, Ollie saw them first, and since he's become a serial rabbit killer, he immediately tried to drag me to them so he could ... well ... you know. And when I saw the objects of his hunting desire, I was quite simply amazed. Right in the middle of the asphalt trail sat two good-sized brown ducks. Yep, those ducks were sitting on the paved trail that is well-traveled by humans and canines alike, and they were sitting there quietly and patiently almost as if they were waiting for someone or something to come along. I lifted Ollie into my arms and we walked around the ducks, and I couldn't help but glance back several times to see if they had moved. "Oliver," I said, "those ducks don't belong on the trail, buddy ... they belong in the creek. I wonder what they are doing just sitting there on the trail." I said those words over and over to Ollie as we walked, and when we passed the ducks still sitting in the same spot as we walked toward home, I said, "I wonder if they are lost, Ollie ... I wonder if they just can't find their way back to where they belong. Those ducks belong in the creek, wiener dog ... they don't belong on the trail." And almost the same scene was repeated the next evening when we went for our nightly walk.
On the third night, I was anxious to get home and head over to the trail to see if the two ducks were still there. That night, it wasn't Ollie who saw them first, it was me. And the reason I saw the ducks first was because ... it was because I was looking for them, friends. And I was looking for them because I was concerned about them ... I was concerned about the ducks because I knew they weren't where they belonged. But more than knowing that they weren't where they belonged, I knew that there was a large field between the ducks and the creek. I knew if they didn't find their way through the grass and over the rocks along the edge of the water ... I knew if the ducks didn't make it back to the water, they would die. The minute I saw them, I bent over and scooped Ollie into my arms and said, "Let's sit and watch the ducks for a few minutes, buddy." I had no more than sat down on the grass by the side of the trail when another duck flew down and landed by the other two ... I swear to you, another duck came and sat by the others. The new duck quacked and squawked and flapped his wings, and the other two quacked back at him. The new duck began walking toward the creek ... and the other two ducks walked behind him ... all ... the ... way ... to ... the ... water.
My tears fell like rain as Ollie and I resumed our walk, and I cried the entire time we were on the trail that night. I cried because I got it ... I got it in a huge, gigantic way. God made those ducks, and He knew they were sitting on the trail because He was looking for them. He knew the water was life to those ducks, and He knew what stood between them and the creek and what they needed to overcome in order to make it back to the life-saving liquid. He knew all of that, and He sent another duck to help lead them home. I got it ... I got it ... I got the lesson ... the huge, gigantic lesson He's been trying desperately to teach me. God made me, and He knows I've been sitting on the trail ... He knows where I belong ... He knows the vast, barren field that stands between me and the water ... He knows what I must overcome to make it to the creek. And He has been sending other ducks ... lots of other ducks ... to help lead me home. I wonder ... I wonder if the duck who flew down and quacked and squawked to the other ducks ... I wonder if he was saying, "Please come home."
Prodigal Song --- Laura Story
"Henry loves the ballpark
But lately he ain't coming round
Things have been so different
Since his youngest boy left town
Fighting seem so harmless
Families sometimes disagree
It's hard to know the reason
Why he finally chose to leave
But he's gone away, his father waits
And he is watching and he is hoping
Though his eyes are weary, his arms are still open
And his prayer so softly spoken
Please come home
Now Henry sits and wonders
In that front porch rocking chair
Does his boy remember
All the love the family shared
And is he cold out there alone?
And he is watching and he is hoping
Though his eyes are weary, his arms are still open
And his prayer so softly spoken
Please come home
To your seat at the table
To your father who weeps
Every night in sleepless dreams
He longs to see his face in younger skin
Running down the driveway again
And he is watching and he is hoping
Though his eyes are weary, his arms are still open
And his prayer so softly spoken
Please come home"
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