For some reason I love the shrimp boats. I do not eat shrimp, or fish at all, but every single time I see them out on the ocean with their nets down and the diamonds of the sun dancing on the water it takes my breath away.
The last bridge to Tybee often has several shrimped boats docked just to the right of it and it has become my own little "Welcome Home" sign. So I stopped the other day and took a walk out onto the fishing pier across from the boats.
The waves come in and the boats gracefully float up and down in harmony with the water. They are tightly anchored to the dock. Rust spots accent the corners of the boats with several spots of the boat missing paint. The nets are strong yet show signs of use and you can easily see frayed strings throughout. Yet these boats go out every day and gather shrimp.
This week has been great work wise. The momentum of our next adventure is really taking off and we are almost ready to launch publically. My heart though has been letting off emotions that I was unprepared for. Scars of the past have emerged which has caused me to pause and reflect. I find myself guarded and fearful. I feel like the shrimp boats look- rusty, worn, and fraying.
After getting my first ticket in 14 years this morning, for doing a stop-and-roll instead of a complete stop, I drove home in silence. Thinking of my Jesus whom I let down every single day, but still loves me. Who forgives the foolish mistakes I repeatedly make. Who never lets me go. I cannot control what storms come, but I can learn to better rest in the knowledge that "he that owns a cattle on a thousand hills..." is my anchor.
A replica of a shrimp boat that I was gifted named "Miss Sarah" hangs in my living room and I stare at it believing.