Finding God In A Kayak

As I stood on the edge of the dirt road leading to the boat rental office, watching the parade of people coming to rent canoes or kayaks, I remember feeling a bit like the ugly duckling.  "You don't belong here."  the voice inside my head shouted.  "Look at these people, they are nature types, berkenstocks, and khaki shorts, water bottles and no make-up; they are the kind of people who kayak, not you."  While I stood off to the side of the dirt road in my white shorts with my designer flip flops from Newport, RI and my knock-off designer sun glasses, drinking a diet pepsi; I had to agree with the voice inside my head:  I didn't belong here.  I was an imposter, posing as a back to nature lover.  However, the man I adored and was married to had been asking me to go kayaking for weeks and so today, I was going to kayak regardless of how painful it would surely prove to be.  So I told the voice inside my head to shut up and went to grab our paddles and life vests.

On the way back to the car, one of my designer flip flops broke.  "See, this is an omen, this is not going to be a good thing." The voice taunted me.  "Shut up!" I replied, as I limped back to the car, with the paddles and vests, dragging one leg so as not to loose the now useless flip flop.  I tried to feign excitement as my husband drove us down miles of dirt roads in Southern Vermont to get to our destination.  We were not going kayaking in any of the typical tourist spots, where there were lots of people and civilization.  No, we were going kayaking on some remote lake up in the mountains of Vermont far out of range of cell phone service and indoor bathrooms. "What if you have an emergency? How will you get help? You could be stranded out here in the wilderness fighting for your life, worse yet, what if you have to go to the bathroom??" the voice in my head shouted. I silently began trying to remember all of the first-aid skills I had learned decades ago in the girl scout classes my mom had forced me to go to.  All I could remember was something about a tourniquet and how ugly the macrame vests were that they forced us to make.

As we carried our kayaks to the edge of the lake, there was a mother and young son peering intently into the water and pointing.  The mother was saying something about how she thought they were salamanders and she didn't like them.  "There's tons of 'em"  the little boy shouted excitedly.  "Run now!" the voice inside my head shouted.  Momentary panic set in as I thought about having to wade barefoot into salamander infested waters. What if I step on them? Do they bite?  I resolutely determined not to look down at the water as I pushed my kayak into the lake and climbed in.

With my husband, and his fishing gear, safely in his kayak behind me, I started paddling out towards the middle of the lake.  I was pretty oblivious to the beauty and grandeur that surrounded me because I was intently experimenting with the best way to paddle in order to get the most speed.  I like to drive fast, even in a kayak.  After about 5 minutes of getting myself soaked with fresh lake water as well as working up a sweat, my husband called out to me:  "Honey, I think you are holding your paddles backwards, turn them around."  I did.  It worked much better that way and I was soon pleased with myself as I set out to break the world's speed record for kayaking. 

As I looked back, I realized I was putting quite a bit of distance between my husband (who was busy baiting his fishing line) and myself.  I pulled my paddle out of the water and looked up.  That was when I lost my breath.  I was surrounded by nothing other than nature, in all its early Summer grandeur.  The robin's egg blue sky, the sun dancing off the water, all framed with varying shades of green, the mountains rising up in the background and the sounds, that was the most breathtaking of all, it was absolutely silent.  No cars buzzing past, no cell phones ringing, or radios blasting, just silence and the occasional melancholy call of the loons who shared this remote spot.

Suddenly, I felt a peace like a giant, hand-made quilt, wrap itself around me.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as if to breathe it into my soul.  "Be still and know that I am God." The voice inside my head was suddenly silenced as the word of God spoke deep into my heart.  I leaned into this incredible peace and allowed it to wash over me, to flow through me.  My muscles and mind relaxed and I breathed deeply and easily.  As I lay there in the middle of that remote lake, with the sunlight warming my face, I realized what a stranger to my life this visitor called peace had been.  I knew I needed more of this.

Almost three hours later, my husband and I reluctantly paddled back towards the shore.  Two of the protected loons who lived on the lake, had decided to accompany me.  They paddled almost within reach of my kayak the entire way back as I, of course, talked to them. 

 As we drove home tired and happy, I realized that I no longer felt like the ugly duckling, in a world where I didn't fit in. I had made two new friends on the lake that day: the loons and a welcome visitor called peace. I silently resolved that I would see them both again soon.