When I purchased my lake house, it came with a sport boat and a Jet Ski. My family and I have learned a lot about their maintenance and safety measures. We all had to take a water safety course and pass a test to get a license to drive the two water craft. Only one mishap has occurred since becoming a boat owner, and it was relatively minor. The Jet Ski became unmoored from our pier when Alabama Power lowered the water level, and was found by a neighbor as it sat bobbing on the surface of the lake. And just because I took a course and have a boating license doesn’t mean I remember everything that I learned for perpetuity. In fact, on one outing, I convinced myself that I was supposed to drop anchor from the stern, or back end, of the boat. Wrong! That can swamp a water craft if the weight of the anchor drags down the motor and water-logs it. Oops. No harm, no foul that day, thank heaven.
The anchor is an important piece of equipment, holding a boat securely in one place, an umbilical cord between lake bottom and the water craft. The boat is unable to drift with the heavy anchor and its strong rope.
Some people in our lives are anchors, holding us securely when we feel adrift. With their compassionate strength, they have a way of making us feel safe. I called my husband, Harvey, my rock, which was an anchor of sorts, tied with a rope of love. During his time with Alzheimer’s disease, I was surely his anchor. And I had to be an anchor for our daughters as they navigated high school and college, as well as being the anchor for my medical practice.
But being an anchor for so many people and organizations can drown a person. The anchor itself can pull you under if it is too heavy and you are hanging onto it with a mighty grip. Or else, if you have many things hooked up to that anchor, and you are that anchor, the whole boat will capsize. And like my poorly placed anchor at the stern of my boat, being an anchor for inappropriate things may cause a disaster. It’s a minor miracle that I didn’t drown holding so many weights.
So what was my anchor during those years? What kept me grounded and connected to what mattered most? Friends, family, and community certainly were. Continuing and adapting activities that brought me joy helped free my brain from worry. And nature. The expansiveness of the natural world, trees above and dirt below, allowed me to untether myself and remember that I was just one small part of a perfect whole. Yes, I had weighty responsibilities, but something greater than me—God, Spirit, the Divine, the Universe—had me. Held me. Walked alongside me. And still does.