It Came Upon Me Wave on Wave

By: Payton M. Ishmael

Oh how salt water burns my eyes. I absolutely adore jumping over and through the sun-kissed waves, but as soon as the salty liquid seeps into my eyes, ouch ouch ouch. The sting is pertinent enough to discourage me from ever opening my eyes again for fear that the pain will worsen. I then float blindly, as wave after wave continues to crash upon me, causing an even greater discomfort to my already-closed eyes.

It’s memories like this week, though, that make the burn seem very well worth it; Spending time with amazing ladies to celebrate the pursuit of happiness of our dear friend, Brandy. Laughing at foreign styles, smiling beneath the sunshine, and giggling with an over-abundance of contentment is a most-desirable place to be.

Well worth the sting of the salty ocean too was the time I spent in Miami a couple years ago with my grandparents. Anna laughed as Poppy and immersed ourselves into every single white cap that rolled its way to the sandy shore.

The same is true of life; sometimes with happiness comes a little bit of sting. Just recently I tried to have the best of both worlds. I tried to enjoy the ‘ocean’ while still keeping my ‘eyes closed.’ Metaphorically speaking, I knew that if I opened my eyes, the burn was sure to come. Although I’d most certainly be able to fully enjoy the salty kisses of the crystal clear waters, I’d have to endure the almost-unbearable burn that accompanied.

Lesson learned, that’s an easy way to drown.

In the future, I realize the importance of walking boldly, with no hesitation, accepting the sting of doing what is right and honest. It may hurt a little bit, but it far outweighs the tragedy of drowning lifelessly in a sea of bad decisions.

The Sands of Time

By: Payton M. Ishmael

My first Mexico morning, I laced up my worn out tennis shoes and took off running into the breath-taking Cancun sunrise. It didn’t take long for my mind to quicken to the sand beneath my feet. Those teensy tiny grains of white powder made my jog at least twice as difficult. I had no complaints, though. I traded my iPod and earphones for the beautiful music of ocean waves crashing. The sand instantly found rest inside my socks. My solution was simply to kick them off and keep running, barefoot. What an incredible workout!

It seems I’ve been spent a lot of time with dirt lately. Just last Sunday, I participated in the Down & Dirty Mud Run; an army-style obstacle course complete with swimming, climbing, and crawling through mud. Although it was a unique experience and I’m glad I participated, I was less than thrilled to douse myself in mud.

Oh how things change! The story is often told of my childhood about a commute home to Canton from Athens on Sunday afternoon. We had just left church and I was safely buckled into my car seat with my young parents. It didn’t take long that I was crying to ride with Anna and Poppy in the car just ahead. Being my parent’s first child, and my grandparent’s first granddaughter, it was very seldom that I didn’t instantly get my way. That being said, my parents pulled the car over and consequently my grandparents did too. After a quick exchange, I was safely nestled between Anna and Poppy so that I could happily enjoy my car ride home. Well, so we thought. Only a few miles down the road, I was crying once again. This time I wanted my mom and dad. I’m uncertain whether they just hadn’t pulled over yet to once again let me switch vehicles, or if they simply weren’t going to let me change again.
I was discouraged, confused, distraught, sad… and an array of other tragic emotions.
“ANNA! Did you see all that dirt?” I exclaimed suddenly.

It took only the big pile of dirt on the side of the road to completely change my way of thinking, dry up my tears, and inspire happiness, smiles, and giggles.
Oddly enough, I was an ultimate tom boy as a kid. Although I enjoyed baby dolls, playing in the dirt was my absolute most favorite. Digging holes, burying silverware, and making mud pies were my idea of a perfect day.

And so maybe the culmination of the recent mud run and my daily beach jogs have taken me back to a place where I have long needed to return. A place where the opinions of people and things around me didn’t matter so much, as the restful peace of enjoying myself and my Creator amidst his creation.

Today, I look fondly at the mud puddles, the sandy beaches, and know that my life-changing pile of dirt must lie just ahead. Maybe it’s time I dig a little deeper.

Learning to Fly

By: Payton M. Ishmael

My beautiful friend Brandy is getting married in Cancun, Mexico in just a few short days. In addition to embracing her short amount of time remaining as a little Miss, I’m privileged enough to escape from Texas, my every day, and myself if you will. Over the course of the next several days, I intend to search my soul, clear my head, and uncloud my piecemeal heart.

Aboard American Airlines flight 1211 is where my journey all began. As a fourth grade teacher, you can imagine my dismay when I was seated with two children; an eighth grader and his little brother, a fourth grader; So much for getting away from my day-to-day. As we flew among the clouds, though, they began to ask questions about the clouds, whether or not we would fly over the ocean, and if it was hard to make a bracelet like the one I was currently completing. I had a renewed sense of purpose and confirmation of calling in my profession. They say curiosity killed the cat. I say it satisfies the hearts of teachers. And so, already, Payton = 1 point.

When braiding string became monotonous and my eyes begin to blur from staring at my Kindle, I took time to simply stare blankly out the window. What a huge, huge world we live in. In the grand scheme of things, I’m just a minute little being roaming around this wild, wild nowhere. If I’m just a microscopic, little dot on the globe, then life’s problems must be even smaller. Living life in east Texas, my disadvantages, heavy burdens, and hurtful questions hang above my head like black thunderclouds. When I’m given the opportunity to soar above the clouds, though, I see how quickly clouds move, and just how very insignificant they are when looked at from a new perspective. Before the plane even landed in Mexico, Payton = 2 points.

In the midst of the NBA Championship series, two points seem hardly enough to boast about. As of late, however, I’ve given up many avenues of my life that I’ve always held near and dear. I’ve truly felt like the underdog with no change to rally. Today, I’ll consider my two points of a victory. Anxiously and excitedly, I move forward in hopeful anticipation as I once again spread my wings. “How do you keep your feet on the ground, when you know that you were born to fly?” – Sara Evans