She sits in front of me, scared, but determined. She is going to conquer this fear. She is going to emerge triumphant. Besides, her Brubber is already fairly far out in the lake and she is concerned for his safety, too. We are in a two person kayak, circling near shore, the two of us a bit nervous and wanting to take time and lots of deep breaths before paddling into deeper waters. The last time we were in a person-powered watercraft on Lake Ossipee, we both had panic attacks. Mine quieted down quickly, but hers escalated as we quickly made our way to shore.
Quite surprisingly, I find myself overcome not with anxiety, but with peace. Peace and a yearning to paddle out toward the middle of the calm lake and enjoy the beautiful autumn scenery.
Paddling toward the teenagers, who through Wilderness Camp experience are completely capable of going it on their own, but according to camp rules are bound to stay close to their parent, she asks if this is such a good idea after all. I offer to go back, but her Brubber is out there and she needs to get to him.
Entranced by the sounds and colors and rhythm of paddle slicing through water, my fears, my anxieties, my health issues, and all that usually casts a haze in my mind melts away.
Catching up with the boys, three of us decide to head toward the old house with the falling-off porch, while one heads for shore.
With each stroke of the paddle, my confidence grows. My body feels good, strong. The sound of paddle through water, water lapping kayak, and quiet banter between siblings mingle together to soothe my spirit.
For once in too long, my mind is quiet. Silent. In this place I feel closest to God. In this place I hear the whispering of my soul.
All is good. Everything is already alright. There is nothing better than this. Than now. Than here. Than Home.