Devotion 313 - bluegills

I looked at my girls straight in the eyes and said, “Remember the bluegill!!”  I honestly thought that would diffuse the hysteria. 

It did not.

A very long time ago, I was maybe 8-years old, my brother 9.  Our summers existed on playing outside, for me biking and swimming, for him, biking and fishing.

We would head to the neighborhood pool, a towel strapped on my bike;  a fishing pole strapped to his.

It was a promise we made our mom.  We had each other’s back.  Eventually curiosity or sunburn would get the best of me and I would wander from the pool out to the pond.  

Normally I would find my brother alone, him and his fish.  He didn't buy bait.  He would troll for bluegill, cut them up, and use them for bait.  He was all boy.

This day, this particular day, he was not alone. Some friends had joined him and quickly realized fishing was not as exciting as taunting an 8-year old girl.  They took one of their still living bluegills and began to chase me.  The fish flopping, me screaming.  It was not one of my best moments.  

Then something happened.  I realized how very ridiculous I looked and decided turning and facing my fear was better than running frantic and frenzied. 

I turned and with all the courage I could muster I said,  “Give me the fish.” 

The look of shock and disappointment covered my pursuer’s face.  His fun was over.  





He flipped the fish, now surely almost dead, back in the pond and simply walked away. 
 I didn't have to hold the fish and I had won some small victory against fear.

My son, my 12-year old, with some of the moxie of his uncle, my brother, had discussed dissection all week.

There seems to be some rite of passage with dissecting a frog.  There is some transition from little kid and non experimental science to full on; I can now build Frankenstein - science.

Every night Beau would engage us with tales of slicing, dicing and the goo.  Every night I would remind Beau we were eating dinner and dissection was not allowed as part of the conversation.  Every night he would retort, “But mom, it’s awesome.”

Beau chose on one particular evening as he and his sisters were setting the table to not bore us with conversation and rather show us his prize.

He pulled a tiny little ball out of his pocket. For all the world it looked like glass and engaged his sisters as to what it could possibly be.  I too glanced as I laid out our supper.  He smiled at their frilly guesses and then said, “It’s a frog eye!  And I popped it right out of its socket!!!!!!!” 
     

Hysteria, sheer unadulterated hysteria ensued.  I said and then screamed, “Remember the bluegill.”  Nothing.  I pressed them to stare down the fish eye.  Nothing but more hysteria.
 I then turned to my son and told him to dispose of the eye.

He was seemingly disappointed but the pleasure of completely riling his sisters remained.

I went on to question Beau’s judgment.  Was it allowed to remove a portion of this frog that gave his life for science I queried?  Apparently, the frog was no longer needing his eye was Beau’s reasoning.

We sat at dinner although none of the female members of the family seemingly had the same appetite.

Hours later I tucked the children in and mused over the evenings events.  Rare we have so much excitement at the Hill house.

I also pondered my weapon, my bluegill story and wondered why it had failed.

You see I hate fear and having a weapon fail against it made me feel like a failure.

I pondered my failure and I pondered my bluegills.  What were they this week?  More than usual as I counted.
 

The child riddled with anxiety, the child struggling in math, the husband in physical pain, the contract not coming together, the expectations, ah yes, the expectations of myself, my children.

My response… to turn and face my accuser,  no, my response is the run.  I seem to be an escape artist.  At first I don’t know I am doing it.  No, at first my quest is to run and be on task, on time, and on point.  I am sure being “on” is all I need to do.  I challenge myself to be up earlier, walk further, read more, pray more, be more kind, be more compassionate as if all these things will forge the wall against my fear.

Then I remember the frog’s eye and the bluegill and I lay in the stillness of the night, I turn and face my accuser.  There is not one bluegill, there are many and they are held not by a 9-year old boy but the enemy.  And I know in my heart of hearts more of anything does not muster the strength to voice the courage to take the bluegills away.  No, it is holding my hands up in surrender and watching Him, my Defender take them away.

It is realizing the expectations I have set are man mind, not God made.

It is realizing in His economy, I am not inadequate, rather I am masterpiece.

It is emptying my hands of stuff, and filling them with His hands, His Word.

It is looking in the mirror and seeing the crazy wild design He put there and not trying to find a size six and sophisticated.

It is Yielding and watching the miracle of my bluegills in His hand being thrown in the pond and knowing that strength, that everlasting all powerful strength is mine for the asking, mine for the taking, mine for the learning and mine for the enduring.

He never asks me how much I can take or how much I can hold or how much I can stand.  He tells me to watch how much we can do and hold and handle together.

And He reminds me to see this work, I must stop running and I MUST turn around.  I must face my fear and I must embrace His grace and stand in the glory which surrounds me.

“The Lord appeared to him from afar, saying, ‘I have loved you with an everlasting love; Therefore I have drawn you with loving kindness.”  Jeremiah 31:3