Monday, November 3, 2014

Lakes and Ponds

Growing up, I spent very little time at the lake. I had friends who had lake houses, fast boats and were exceptional wake boarders, but still did not find myself at the lake often. Actually, I can count the times I've been to waveless waters on one hand. It's not that spending time at the lake is something I don't enjoy, I just enjoy the ocean more.

But on Saturday, I got one finger closer to two hands of trips to the lake. 

That afternoon, we packed up with some friends and drove up to Lake Pleasant, a body of water that can sneak up on you if you're not looking for it. Thanks to a dam on the Phoenix side, the lake seems to be cradled between the forming peaks of mountains, spreading through their various valleys. 

We unloaded, backed the truck up, and got on the water smoothly. And the rest of the day was just that, smooth. 

As we picked up and began to glide, I took a backseat, sat in the corner of the boat by myself, and looked down at the water as it passed by. I closed my eyes, thanked God for the peace I was feeling at that moment. Something I had been needing, but didn't know till right then. 

My mind wandered to memories. I started reminiscing about times. Began counting memories. Started to count them as blessings. The ones that surfaced were perfect flashbacks, of times where I would not change a single thing. My memories have become blessings. 

The most perfect memories that I thought of were in Millican, Texas, on a pond my grandpa would take the men in the family to fish. Some days in the middle of the week during college, I would get a text from him, and as soon as class was out, I'd grab a pole and hit the water with my grandpa. The best times were when he, my dad, my brother and I would all climb into the same truck and head out. We had two small boats. My dad and I typically went together, while my grandpa and brother took the other. There was the Texas heat, the smell of fish fresh on our hands, and lots of laughter going on between the boats. I can still remember the conversations I had with my dad, contemplating greatness while we cast hundreds of times. This pond would never disappoint, and there was never a day we did not each catch atleast ten fish. When the sun would set, we'd clamber out of the boats, and all be talking about how many we had caught and how humongous they were. 

These times were plentiful, and are blessings. They make tough times now easier, and help me to smile. I am more thankful now after our trip to the lake on Saturday. It was a good time, with good people. Reminded me of past times with beloved others. 

This is for sure, I need to get back soon for a trip to a certain pond in Millican. 

1 comment:

  1. Our memories are blessings. So true. Love you!!