The Island: The Return

My first trip to Little Gasparilla Island was in 2010. We went with one of my besties, Danielle Dorey, who I'd met during my Frontliners internship the summer of 2003.
 

 Baby faces.

Micah was a baby, and I was a happily married stay-at-home mom/part-time private piano and voice teacher. And I'd just scored a lead role in the community theater's Fall musical-comedy. Life was pretty good. And the trip? A-maz-ing. I'd fallen in love with that little slip of sandy earth and planned to return as soon as I could.

What I didn't realize then was the bit of heaven we'd enjoyed there was the calm before the storm. There was crazy theater drama for the next two months. (Not all the good kind.) A miscarriage. A major onslaught against my health in January 2011 followed by a difficult pregnancy and a semi-traumatic labor and delivery.


My health continued to deteriorate, but I never let go of the dream of returning. I felt God had given it as a promise to go with my healing. I would say to Brandon, "When I get well, we're going back, you know."

And when I was lying on what could've been my death bed, he'd say, "Don't forget. When you get well, we're going back to the island." To remind me I couldn't die yet. We had plans.

When my healing began, we mentioned a return trip, but as time came to make preparations I realized we were too short on cash to press the issue. Besides, I was going to Brazil in September.

But my Superman is one sly guy and he's earned his nickname many times over.

As we drove home from the Ozarks on my birthday, my phone rang. It was Danielle. Because it was my birthday, I expected nothing more than a wish. Which I received. Then she said, "Brandon, God and I have a surprise for you."

My thought bubble: Brandon...God...Danielle...can't be a baby...hmmm....

"How would you like to come down to the island next month?"

After a momentary lapse of cognition, I flipped. I laughed. I cried. I bounced up and down in my seat. I couldn't believe it. And yet I could. Brandon has always been too good to me.

I sneaked a glance at him. Tears shimmered in his eyes. Softy. He knew what this meant to me.

I thanked Danielle. I thanked B. I thanked God. I was so stoked. Only a few days before I'd asked Sara, "If we could go anywhere in the world together, where would you want to go?"

"Da beach," she'd said with a grin. She'd never been and it had been so long since our last beach trip, Micah didn't remember. They were so excited when I told them.

Brandon explained we would drive to Georgia first to see our friends James and Erica Kordsmeier, then drive down to Tampa and leave from there for the island with the Doreys. We'd be gone 11 days.

The drive to Georgia was smooth and pleasant. God placed two people in my path to pray for along the way, which was fun. Our time with the Kordsmeiers was too short but very sweet.

Then came our reunion with the Doreys. It had been six years since I'd seen my friend face to face and yet--because of phone calls, texts, Facebook and the goodness of God--it was as if no time had passed. Except for the three extra kiddos, dark circles under our eyes and a few gray hairs. But whatevs.

The next day, we made our way south along Florida's west coast. I was antsy to get to the island, but also a bit fearful. Would it be as incredible as I remembered? Or had I blown a nice experience out of proportion in my mind?

I stepped out of the truck and smelled bay water. A hot breeze ruffled my unruly hair. I smiled and forgot all fear of disappointment.

Samantha, Danielle's sister gave some of us a boat ride from the marina to the island.

Weston and Sara ready to go "motor speed."

Before I knew it, we were there. And yes--the magic I remembered still hovered over the island. Not quite ripe sea grapes and coconuts graced the trees. Birds called out to one another. A dog barked in the distance. The kids played in the sand and I enjoyed the quiet rush of the breeze through the foliage while we waited for the luggage to be unloaded onto the golf cart.

Then it was a race to get to the beach.

One of the things I love about Little Gasparilla is the low population. There are no condominiums. Just beach houses. There's no fighting for chair space. You don't have to watch your stuff. You can leave it out all day if you want. No one will bother it. And your kids are easy to spot. Behold...

The kids enjoyed the beach as much as they thought they would. They enjoyed each other more than I thought they would.

 

Here we have a Weston...the cutest fish you'll ever meet.

FYI: You can't keep this 4-year-old out of the water. 

Micah was afraid of the water, but enjoyed the beach. 

I taught Sara to body board...kind of. 

 

 Instead of a vanilla latte made by Kurt Pendergrass, Kurt Pendergrass taught me to make my own. Turns out, I'm not a bad barista.

 

Kurt also took B fishing again...

and on our first evening, took us all out on a dolphin cruise.

The kids enjoyed the local wildlife. 

One morning, I woke early to pray and enjoy the sunrise, which was pretty glorious. The sunsets were as spectacular as I remembered.

 Check out that green ray!

But nothing could beat the company.

This trip to the island was a lot more work than the last. That's what happens when you add three littles to the mix. Especially when the party includes a high-adventure, adrenaline junkie, perpetually ravenous two year old. 

Meet Titus. Chances are, he's "hungee." 

Kudos to Danielle and Ryan who somehow keep him fed.

I didn't have a lot of alone time with Jesus while we were gone, but the constant prayer of my heart was, "Thank you...thank you...thank you...thank you..."

I was overwhelmed by generosity. Of my husband, who sacrificed vacation days usually set aside for hunting. By my friends who offered us a free place to stay and great company. Of the Pendergrasses and Danielle's sister, Samantha, who came down both Sunday and Wednesday to make coming and going fun, easy and inexpensive. Of the Lord. 

Wow...just wow. 

I'd done nothing to deserve such a gift. Yet it was freely given. Grace, grace...marvelous grace. 

Grace was the golden thread running through every detail. From the ability to even go to the hospitality of friends. Down even to the storm patterns. Each day, storms threatened to come down upon us, but danced around instead. On the day we left, all the Floridians agreed, we'd get wet on the boat ride back to shore. But no. The clouds parted. We sat on damp towels and enjoyed the cool air in our faces...

...and on the drive back to Tampa, a reminder that God always...always...keeps His promises.

Agree with the Enemy

 Original image via Flickr Creative Commons courtesy of J Brew

Have you ever run through a patch of bull nettles? Well, neither have I, but Superman once did and told me what it was like.

I've experienced the spiritual equivalent many times. I'm nipped, pinched, and stung until I take off at an aimless sprint, desperate to find my way out only to find myself farther in.

That restless nettling is often accompanied by words. Words of condemnation.

You are filthy with sin. 
How can you think something like that and call yourself a child of God?
You may look good on the outside, but you know you're rotten at the core.
You're a failure.
You're an addict.
Look at how much time you wasted today.
You always say the wrong thing.
You don't deserve to be healed.
You're a sad excuse for a mother. 
Look at you. You can't help yourself. How can you expect to help others?

When I stop to identify the tone and timbre, I know immediately--that ain't my Shepherd's voice. This isn't the way God deals with His kids.

But recognizing the presence of the Enemy is just the first step. I can't simply wish him away. I have to engage. Whether I feel like it or not.

And let me tell you something--he's fiercely clever and more patient than I'll ever be in this life. He always pounces when I'm too tired or sick to fight. He hits me where I'm weak.  

And 99.9% of the time, he attacks me with the truth. 

Satan may be the Father of Lies, but he knows me. He sees me read my Bible. He watches as I soak up solid teaching.

An outright lie won't work on me. When one comes, I literally laugh out loud, and say something like, "Seriously? That's what you're going with today?"

So he comes at me with half-truths.

It's true that I'm filthy with sin, that my thoughts are impure, that I'm rotten to the core. That I'm a failure, an addict, a time-waster. I do say the wrong thing at the wrong time. I don't deserve to be healed. I am a sad excuse for a mother. I can't help myself...much less anyone else.

How to fight little-'t' truth: 

 

I had the pleasure of falling asleep last night and waking up this morning to bull nettles.

Those fiery little arrows were aimed as true as the words. They paralyzed me. Until God reminded me of a battle tactic I learned from family friend, Deb McCracken, a few years ago--

"Agree with the Enemy."

 

 It may seem counterintuitive, but I've found it exceedingly helpful.

Think about it. When the Enemy attacks with the truth, should we counter truth with a lie? Does it really help to say, "Pssshhhaw...I'm not a sinner. I'm just fine, thank you very much. I'm a great mom. I do deserve to be healed. By the way, why haven't I? What gives, God?"

Umm....no. Let's not abandon truth just because it hurts.

Instead, we zero in on the weakness in the Enemy's attack. You can bet your bottom dollar that he will never come at you with the whole Truth.

So agree with the Enemy, and then...

Complete the Sentence.

 

When the Enemy comes at us with half-truths, it's our job to complete the sentence. Writer type that I am, I always enjoyed these exercises in elementary school. Even if you didn't, you must learn the skill if you want to win the battle.

A helpful hint: All Truth ends with Jesus, and it can only be found in God's Word. (This is why it's so important to know the Bible. You can't walk in victory without it.)

When you've completed the sentence...

Preach to Your Soul.  

 

Soul preaching is an important skill for all believers because our feelings don't always align with the Truth. Take a page out of David's book (Psalm 42), and preach Truth to yourself.

For example:

Yes, I'm filthy with sin, but Jesus died for me while I was at my worst (Rom. 5:8; Eph. 2:4). If He gave His life for me then, He won't abandon me now (John 10:28; Heb. 13:5). 

My thoughts aren't always pure, but Jesus is transforming me by renewing my mind (Rom. 12:2). Lord, help me to think on things that are true, noble, just, pure, lovely, good, and praiseworthy (Phil. 4:8).

My Pharisaical tendencies break my heart. I'm sure they break God's heart, too. But Jesus loves Pharisees. It was to Pharisees Jesus said, "How often I wanted to gather you together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings" (Matt. 23:37). Praise the Lord, I'm willing to be gathered!

What does it matter that I'm a failure when Jesus has fulfilled the law for me (Rom. 8:3-4)?

Show me the man or woman who isn't an addict. God loves addicts! Addiction cannot separate me from the love of God (Rom. 8:38-39). Lord, heal my addictions by satisfying me with Yourself.
 
Thanks for pointing out that I wasted time today. Lord, I repent. Thank you for never wasting a minute of your life on this earth. Help me to follow your example. 

I totally said the wrong thing today. Jesus, thank you for your promise that all things work together for good to those who love you--even my failures (Rom. 8:28). Transform and purify what I said. Teach me your ways and words. Fill me with your Spirit so that I may speak the truth in love and keep silent when silence is best.

I don't deserve to be healed, but I open my hands to whatever good gift it pleases you to give for the good of your Church. Help me be a faithful witness to your grace, whether it be delivering grace or sustaining grace.

I'm not a great mother, it's true. I thank you, Jesus, that my children's salvation doesn't depend on my mothering skills but on your marvelous grace. Cover my efforts with that grace.

God, it's true that I can't help myself. But you say, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" (Matt. 5:3). You didn't come to help the strong, but the weak. Because your strength is made perfect in my weakness, I trust you to empower my poor efforts to strengthen my brethren. I thank you that you are our Helper and that no one counts on me (Heb. 13:5-6).

 
As you can see, these preaching sessions can easily turn into prayer, and that's how I found my way to freedom this morning. May this bit of battle strategy help you find a little freedom, too.

"There is therefore now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus, who do not walk according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit."

-Romans 8:1