Dad's Birthday
God morning. Today would have been Dad's 79th birthday. God morning, Dad. How appropriate that I should be here on the Island today. His place is, in a sense, timeless although it has changed a great deal since I first started coming here. There are a couple of new houses and the rest have all been improved in some way or another. The spirit of the Island is what is really changeless.
We arrived at perhaps midday. I brought the Boston Whaler over- loaded with lumber and building supplies, while Polly and Roger came across in the Viking II, a restored wooden launch named for a childhood vessel. Pulling into the harbor brought a sense of "home". Incredible. The day was spent eating lobster for lunch, sailing on the Merkaneag Sound, and a short hike to see the sunset from the western side of the island,- a sunset with majestic Mt. Washington some three hundred miles away yet clear on the horizon. These were simple yet important things to do.
Ah! The sun has broken the horizon. It is almost time to move out to the deck and enjoy the early morning warmth and to watch this northern paradise come to life for another day...God has given me many gifts in this life. The greatest of these, of course, is his love. But his love is expressed in so many different ways. If I can manage to keep my heart and my eyes open, then I am encompassed, almost overwhelmed, by that love. It's not just manifest in the glories of nature, no, not even only in a beautiful day, but in all that surrounds me. People, memories, simplicity itself, even the music which I choose to surround myself with,- all burst with his magnificent love. If I wake in the morning with his name on my lips and gratitude in my heart, then the day has begun on the best note possible.
This island is rich in memories and stories. The previous physical description given earlier is fairly accurate,- pretty much as I remembered, though the highest point is 93 feet and not a hundred and something. "Pirate's Cave" in Little Harbor has long since caved in...but I swear that there are still echoes of kid's laughter in the area. As we landed, trekked, and readied for this three-day sojourn, memories of simpler times (or maybe more complex times, like coming of age) flooded in. Memories and stories of my thirteenth summer, before John Kennedy was shot; before far-reaching and heart wrenching changes. The Summer of Dan Kobic. That was the summer of friendships that seemingly can only be made by thirteen-year-old boys,- in love with life itself. That was a summer and a friendship which all others were to be measured by, but more of that another time.
There are memories, also, of card games (Hearts) and sailboats, of solar eclipses and fishing, of hiking and climbing, of fields of wildflowers in which to hide (and perhaps attack unsuspecting friends as they happened by). All of these memories came as a flood even as we motored over from the mainland. Sheesh!, so much to write about. It will still be there at some point as I continue on this larger adventure that God has given me.
Right this very second, I am listening to the Canadian Brass, performing Pachobel's Kanon in D minor. Memories of dad are flooding through. Happy Birthday, dad. This used to be a difficult time for me - a time of loss and resentments. The man who was "supposed to" love me didn't. I don't want to write about all of that right now as it is all untrue. My own insecurities, doubts, and alcoholism kept me hidden from the reality of my father's love for far too long. The lasting gifts with which he enriched my life far outweigh the self-inflicted and perceived injustices.
Enough for now. Thank-you, God, for this brand new day. May I please keep your love and spirit with me in all that I do today. Please help me to reach out to others. Help me to receive from others. Help me, please, to be the best that I can possibly be today. Help me carry your love and hope with me in all that I do on this momentous day!!
We arrived at perhaps midday. I brought the Boston Whaler over- loaded with lumber and building supplies, while Polly and Roger came across in the Viking II, a restored wooden launch named for a childhood vessel. Pulling into the harbor brought a sense of "home". Incredible. The day was spent eating lobster for lunch, sailing on the Merkaneag Sound, and a short hike to see the sunset from the western side of the island,- a sunset with majestic Mt. Washington some three hundred miles away yet clear on the horizon. These were simple yet important things to do.
Ah! The sun has broken the horizon. It is almost time to move out to the deck and enjoy the early morning warmth and to watch this northern paradise come to life for another day...God has given me many gifts in this life. The greatest of these, of course, is his love. But his love is expressed in so many different ways. If I can manage to keep my heart and my eyes open, then I am encompassed, almost overwhelmed, by that love. It's not just manifest in the glories of nature, no, not even only in a beautiful day, but in all that surrounds me. People, memories, simplicity itself, even the music which I choose to surround myself with,- all burst with his magnificent love. If I wake in the morning with his name on my lips and gratitude in my heart, then the day has begun on the best note possible.
This island is rich in memories and stories. The previous physical description given earlier is fairly accurate,- pretty much as I remembered, though the highest point is 93 feet and not a hundred and something. "Pirate's Cave" in Little Harbor has long since caved in...but I swear that there are still echoes of kid's laughter in the area. As we landed, trekked, and readied for this three-day sojourn, memories of simpler times (or maybe more complex times, like coming of age) flooded in. Memories and stories of my thirteenth summer, before John Kennedy was shot; before far-reaching and heart wrenching changes. The Summer of Dan Kobic. That was the summer of friendships that seemingly can only be made by thirteen-year-old boys,- in love with life itself. That was a summer and a friendship which all others were to be measured by, but more of that another time.
There are memories, also, of card games (Hearts) and sailboats, of solar eclipses and fishing, of hiking and climbing, of fields of wildflowers in which to hide (and perhaps attack unsuspecting friends as they happened by). All of these memories came as a flood even as we motored over from the mainland. Sheesh!, so much to write about. It will still be there at some point as I continue on this larger adventure that God has given me.
Right this very second, I am listening to the Canadian Brass, performing Pachobel's Kanon in D minor. Memories of dad are flooding through. Happy Birthday, dad. This used to be a difficult time for me - a time of loss and resentments. The man who was "supposed to" love me didn't. I don't want to write about all of that right now as it is all untrue. My own insecurities, doubts, and alcoholism kept me hidden from the reality of my father's love for far too long. The lasting gifts with which he enriched my life far outweigh the self-inflicted and perceived injustices.
Enough for now. Thank-you, God, for this brand new day. May I please keep your love and spirit with me in all that I do today. Please help me to reach out to others. Help me to receive from others. Help me, please, to be the best that I can possibly be today. Help me carry your love and hope with me in all that I do on this momentous day!!
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