We must accept we are there and settle enough so we may be carried by the deep – Mark Nepo

Particles

Water is significant in my life for many reasons. Some, I can’t begin to explain. What is irrefutable is that the old Marine lathered me in it from an early age. I am most at peace on it. Despite being raised a son of the Gulf, I am not a strong swimmer. The pure volume of experiences has led to many precarious situations over the years; That underdeveloped skill waiting to be tested. None more harrowing than wade fishing, alone, at Emerald Isle in North Carolina. After delivering umpteen lectures to my wife and children regarding the perils of the rip, I failed to heed my own warning.

It was low tide when I entered the surf, that waking summer morning. The water was crystal clear. Beautiful, white sand bars presented themselves as welcoming beaches. I strolled through the chilly water of the Atlantic and made my way toward the inlet where the Bogue Sound empties into the ocean. The steady current, where the waters mingled, surely held the key to a struggle with a prize, or two.

Early morning turned mid and as the kids would be waking soon, I decided I’d call it even for the time being. The tide was steadily rising. I could see the current ripping through the trough that was created from the Sounds’ entrance into the surf. Still, I was a mere twenty yards from shore. Evaluating the long, safe trek that I could retrace to return home, I opted for the path of the hare.

Not knowing the depth of the water, but assuming it was not over my head, I eased into the flow. Suddenly, the bottom dropped out from under me. As quick as a sprinter from the blocks, I was whisked sideways. Though the lesson of turning myself over to the tide presented itself, I ignored it and started to swim towards the bank. I was so close.

Before long, I realized I had to shed my gear. I abandoned rod, reel, and all things sacred. Giving every ounce of energy I had, I fought to reach land. For what seemed like ever, I made no progress. Then, I saw him.

Ghost white legs sticking out, bird like, from tacky shorts. Head adorned with a wide brim hat and sporting sunglasses, he looked like any other, northern, beachcomber. Yet, there was something about him. Failing to offer help, or advice, he just waited, staring. Motionless, he stood yards from me as I drowned.

Though I was literally in a fight for my life, I was mesmerized by the stranger. Then, almost ready to give up, I, miraculously, found myself just a few body lengths from the shore. Staring at his black shoes and depleted of strength, I found one last ounce of will and slapped a hand on solid ground.

Exhausted, but alive, I lay there, face down. I’m not sure how long I stayed there, prostrate and thankful. Eventually, I got to my knees and started to rise. Exiting my fog, I remembered the man. I looked up and down the peninsula. He was gone.

Limbs of jelly, I labored down the beach to the cabin. Head hanging like that of a beaten hound dog, I entered, retold my tale and limped off to bed. I remained there for the majority of the day, completely spent. Only years later did I come back to the mysterious figure.

It’s possible, he was just a passer by who watched, dumbfounded, as the idiot in front of him flailed about. I’ve never felt that. For years, I accepted that it was the Grimm Reaper standing silent and unhelpful, waiting to collect a tortured soul. Today, I ponder a different possibility. Could it have been the Lord?

In the midst of my struggle, I started to give into the fact that I wasn’t going to make it. I was doomed to drown yards from shore. The lunacy of the situation, my lectures given, the ease with which I could have safely waded home, and my stubborn resistance to letting the current carry me to the safety of the shallows, almost made me laugh before I died. And then, the stranger appeared.

Losing sight of the foolishness of my behavior and my imminent demise, I became focused on the man. Was he going to stand there and watch me drown? I was outraged. How could he not offer assistance? Was he just watching so he could tell the authorities what he’d witnessed? Where to find the body? Suddenly, I realized I was so much closer to shore. The change of my focus had allowed me to forget that I couldn’t go on. Was it then, without a word, that He carried me?

We are all just waves in an infinite ocean. We rise, fall and crash, just to re-enter and rebuild somewhere in the deep. There are times when our ego, impatience and stubbornness will not allow us to ride the tide to safety. Even then, we are carried if our work is not done.

Enter the water and when you struggle to stay afloat, accept that our control is a myth.

Ride

William

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Now Let Us Share

I don’t make it to Mass very often. However, I did this morning. I’m not a Good Catholic, but I embrace and appreciate, the Mass and rituals therein. That’s why I was saddened today at a change made out of fear. 

One of my favorite moments of the Mass is the offering of Peace. After the Priest extends the Peace of the Lord, the congregation returns the sentiment to His Spirit. Then, in days not so panic filled, we are asked to share and celebrate this Peace with our neighbors. Not today. 

We blew by any notion of sharing a hand shake, fist bump, kiss, hug or punch in the arm so fast that no one so much as looked at one another. 
I understand the precaution, I really do, but give me a break. 

I shook off my momentary, contemplative outrage and continued to pray for our collective soul. I asked for forgiveness of my sins and requested any nudge possible towards the doorway of being a better person.  I kneeled with Mom and Dad and saw them both at different ages kneeling next to me. Felt Dad enter my body.  Judged that feeling for half a second and heard a voice tell me that our souls have always been mingled.  It brought me back to the deeper intention afforded by our sharing the Peace of the Lord with one another.

As the Mass came to an end and we prepared to “go in Peace” though we hadn’t offered each other any…, the Priest saved the Bishop. He acknowledged that the directives given with regards to health precautions might be a little extreme (Are you listening Austin? ). Then he added the nugget that moved the needle. 

This (existence) is not just about, or for, any one individual.  Every action we take, or do not, has a lasting impact on those around us. When we act on anything of significance, with a myopic, me only view, we run a risk of harm to others. His duel message, “Sermon #2” as he labeled it, left much to individual interpretation.   

While many surely took the words that described his central theme literally, I was listening to what wasn’t said. In my heart, it sounded like this:

We were granted the opportunity to participate in this Grand Parade we know as Life. With that privilege comes responsibility.  The Duty to be the best human being you can be.  It is as simple as washing your hands to keep yourself well and therefore your Brothers and Sisters. As complex as, Opening your eyes and really Seeing those around you. Act with intention and remember that doing nothing is indeed acting. The silent sermon highlighted those points and everything in between. 

We are human.  We get absorbed in our own universe often. It is as inevitable as the rotation of the earth. The first lens I put on any situation is selfish.  A view I often never get past before rushing to action.  Daily, I ask for strength to be a better person. The courage to open my eyes and understand that the Butterfly Affect is real. For each step I take forward, I trip and sometimes fall twice that many times. Of this, I am painfully aware. All I can do is bounce back up, wipe the dirt off my knees and smile at the next face I see. 

Peace Be With You
William Joseph Nelson 

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What Kind of House Is This?
There is a chapter in “The Handmaids Tale” that talks of the exploration of a room. Paying careful attention to the most minute details. Opening each drawer, looking at the small irregularities in the paint, inspecting the base boards. It made me think of self exploration and the details we might not pay close attention to.
Just like a room, we each have many drawers to open and closets to explore. We all have little irregularities and scratches in our paint. We were painted at different times and though ultimately we come from the same Architect, we were molded by different builders. Some good, some not so good. 
My earliest memories are of dreams about houses. Some were scary and others simply intriguing. I have visited the back stairwells of Churches, explored hallways that led to nowhere. Found 3rd floors of many homes that I did not previously know existed. 
As a child, I had recurring dreams. Two different dreams, but each was exactly the same every time. Though I was probably 8 when those dreams started and stopped, I could recite them for you to this day. As an adult (not really sure I can call myself that yet) I visit the same houses and specific rooms on a fairly regular basis. Sometimes I have been in the rooms; Mom and Dad’s house, my house. Other times I’ve dreamed the house up. Built it in my sleep. And I go back often. Still, the same sense of wonder arrives when I find the 3rd floor where all the treasures are. The rooms are all so amazing.  
There are troubles in some of the rooms; Danger and dread. Others are full of intrigue and love. You never know when one may have new meaning and promise. Until we enter the room and explore it, there is no way to tell what is there. Sure, some drawers may be better left unopened, but how do we know until we peek?
In life, the markets change and the contents of the drawers are altered with them. Some showers burst with good water pressure, but once in awhile a pipe floods your washroom. There isn’t much we can do but clean up and open the next door.  
It takes a long time to build a good House. Maintenance is needed in most rooms often. Occupants change from time to time. We remember Those that we loved and those with which we struggled. In the end, without looking in the next room, We will never find out where we are, or What could be. 
Open the door. 
Will 
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Another Type of Lesson
I miss my Mom every day. I might be walking through a bookstore, watching some mystery (our favorite) on television, or just resting my overactive mind for a minute. Without notice, there she’ll be. I love those moments. I love my Mom.  
There are so many stories to tell about Kissy, and so many people who could tell them. No, I’m not just talking about her giant brood of Children and Grand Children. Mom affected people well beyond that small reach. I sure am blessed to have Her with me, day in and day out. Very, very lucky to be her baby boy. 
Mom taught us so many things directly, yet it is the indirect that crosses my mind today. Maybe “indirect” is not exactly the right term, but it’s as close as I can get at the moment. You see, I find it as no surprise that the first game of the Astros second appearance in the World Series starts on Her Birthday. Hang in there y’all, ” there’s gold in them hills”. 
In 2005, at the ages of 80 and 85, Mom and Dad accompanied my brother and Sister-in-Law to game 4 of the National League Division Series. As fate would have it, the Astros defeated the Atlanta Braves in 18 innings. That contest turned out to be the longest game in Post Season history; 5 hours and 50 minutes. I can assure you of two things other than Hunter’s fear he had taken time off of their lives: 1. Mom only agreed to go in order to be with Hunter and Betsy and 2. She “sweated” every pitch. Putting her all into the success of our team. 
No, Mom was no huge sports fan. She was a fan of Her Family and Friends. Loyal as the day is long, She worried about the Astros, Cowboys and the University of Texas because We all did. She rooted for the success and happiness of everyone She knew.  
Make no mistake, she enjoyed every minute of it. She wanted to be with Us. She wanted to see us smile, hear our cheers, feel our emotions. In the end, She wanted to hug us and make us realize that She was right there. No matter what. 
Maybe “indirect” is the right term. I believe what I’m talking about is the innate Power of a Mother’s love. The all-encompassing desire to let You know She is with you. Something so Natural, She doesn’t even know She is conveying a message. 
Momma, I’ll tell You something. I know You are here Today. We have known Your loyalty and love through our successes and most of all at our lowest of lows. Thank You for the lessons, no matter the direction from which they come. Thank God for You. I miss your worldly presence so much. 
One last thing; Since I know Dad is making You watch the Astros tonight from the Stars above, could you go ahead and get us a game one victory? Either way, I’ll look to my left and see the beautiful Lady in her chair; Two, Lipstick stained, Lucky Strike butts in the ashtray, a “delicious” vodka in hand. I’ll hear Your voice, treasure Your distinctive Southern Draw and dream of one more night in the living room with You and Dad. 
Happy Birthday Mom. I can’t even begin to tell You how much I love you. 
William
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Dad 
Man I miss you. I wish I could call you and meet you at the pocket. It wouldn’t matter if we caught anything or not. I’d be happy to sit in the car and watch the rain hammer the Gulf of Mexico. I understand it’s doing that as we speak. 
How many times did we watch that rain in the wee hours of the morning? The lightning letting us glimpse the riot of surf we longed to fish in. The open back end of the wagon, occupied by our aluminum row boat, made certain we heard all of God’s message. We certainly couldn’t hear each other. The love in that car didn’t need words to be felt anyway. 
Loud noises have always scared me. Fireworks made me cry and I still jump when a bolt of lightning forewarns of the imminent crash of thunder. Somehow, the thunder never bothered me when I was with you. Fear melted away and turned into music. 
We rode out many storms in the middle of the gulf, huddling on the jetty. You always reminded us there was no use running from them. We’d get in more trouble if we ran. We laughed as our fishing line started to float ominously on its own and our hair stood on end. Momma just told us not to tell her those stories….
You taught us so much about life in your very solid way. Taught me much about handling fear through the shear understanding that you could get hurt worse running from it. You learned these lessons because you were dealt a hand that gave you no other options. We leaned because you were there to guide us. By the way, you never claimed you weren’t afraid, you just wouldn’t let fear stop you. 
Daddy, you made mistakes and dealt with the consequences by making the next best decision you knew how. You loved us without condition. Stuck by us at our lowest points and shrugged off the credit others gave you when we succeeded. Your advice was always available, but you knew it was only a suggestion. Not a man to do what others told him often, you understood that people make their own choices. If our decisions worked out poorly, which they often did, you helped us pick up the pieces. You had Faith that everything would work out no matter what. One of your biggest gifts was your understanding of individuality. That said, you gave us the tools to understand that conscientious individuality is key.  
You gave so much. Your smile, your laugh and the ability to laugh at yourself. Your comfort, your wisdom, your counsel. Your creativity and your LOVE. 
By actions and words, you taught me that we are all fallible. You were my definition of “perfect imperfection”.
I am so blessed to have had 44 years with you. And so happy for all the memories. I’m just down here living. Making a few mistakes and dealing with what’s next. Creating memories and experiencing as much life as I can. Opening up the doors to see who comes in and laughing when it rains. Drop me a line now and then brother, or at least put my lure in the vicinity of a big fish with a little gust of wind. 
Thank you for everything Daddy. You did the best you knew how and it was pretty damn good if you ask me. I love you so much, I miss your earthly presence everyday, but make no mistake you are with me every step I take. Happy Father’s Day just a couple days early. 
Love

William 
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