Red sticker stories

I have had, in my head, a musing about one of the unique aspects of living on Ocracoke - the stickers we all have on our cars, which indicate our permanent resident status and allow us to board the Hatteras Inlet ferry from the priority traffic lane (a very helpful thing when you have a car full of groceries, the refrigerated items in a cooler, hopefully staying cold enough, it's July, and the line is long).

It seems I waited a bit too long for my "red sticker stories", because now we have white stickers. (They expire every three years, so we had to get new ones in January). "White sticker stories" somehow doesn't have the same ring, but I've decided to tell a few of my stories anyway.

I'm in the habit of waving at any car with a red sticker. Since I'm still relatively new here, many of the people I wave at don't know me (and I don't know them either, but I still wave!) As a result, I inevitably get one of three reactions: some people automatically wave back (these are the ones like me, who wave at anyone with a red sticker and/or anyone who waves first), some don't wave (it's quite possible they didn't even notice my wave), and some get this "who the heck are you and why are you waving at me?" look on their faces, staring as they drive by. I actually enjoy that reaction the most. Of the three, it's the least automatic and indicates the other driver is thinking about who might be waving at him or her.

Speaking of the "automatic" waving, I knew I might have become a little mindless with my friendliness when I caught myself waving at the red sticker on an empty truck PARKED next to the road! Suddenly I realized I was having a Pavlov's dog reaction: see red sticker, raise fingers. I had to laugh out loud at myself.

My favorite red sticker story is about the first time I used my sticker. John had gotten the sticker a few days earlier, but we hadn't had any reason to go to Hatteras. Then my father came to visit, and we decided to take a drive to see the Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum and the Hatteras Lighthouse. We headed up the island and came around the curve at the docks shortly after the ferry staff had started the loading process. The guy directing the traffic waved me forward, holding up a hand to stop the next person in the non-priority lane from boarding so he could slot me in to the line of cars. Well, that poor non-priority person was not pleased about the situation, and kept driving even though the ferry man was clearly signaling she should stop. She rolled up until she was pretty close to the poor guy before finally giving up and stopping to wait for me. The funny part of the story is this: the angry lady ended up on the ferry behind us, and she stared daggers at me during the entire 40 minute ride to Hatteras. If looks could kill, I wouldn't be here writing this today! She was not at all happy. I found it hysterical, since there really wasn't anything to be upset about - she was on the darn ferry! I would have completely understood if she had thrown those looks at me from the ferry dock, as I pulled out in my car on the ferry she should have been on, if not for me. (Heck, I would've understood if she had thrown THINGS at me in that situation!) But there she was, on the ferry she would have been on regardless of whether I had suddenly arrived on the scene or not, but still angry nonetheless.

Or maybe she was just in a bad mood at having to LEAVE the island. (It's not my favorite thing to do either...I much prefer riding the ferry in the other direction, coming home).

Bait for dinner and a quiet night

Every Tuesday, Jason's restaurant serves sushi. I love sushi and have been eating it for years. John, on the other hand, was not a fan. He called it "bait". Then he tried the spicy tuna roll at Jason's. Now he's hooked. (He does, however, still call it bait!) Now, we go to Jason's most Tuesday nights, so John can get his sushi fix. Sometimes, that's all we eat. Tonight, we used the sushi as an appetizer and then stuffed ourselves with other excellent food, including a fabulous pound cake with strawberry sauce for dessert.

We have had a couple of lovely mild days recently. Today was beautifully sunny and windless. Tonight is clear, quiet and calm. Silver Lake looked like a smooth mirror in the moonlight, when we stopped by there on our way home from Jason's. Light (of all kinds) reflected on water is one of my favorite visions of beauty. I am very fortunate to live here, where I can see light on water every day.

I hope you also get to eat food you enjoy, and observe the beauty around you.

Filled and used by the Master Potter

In January, when John and I were in Seagrove, the first pottery we went to was called "His Hands Pottery". I suspected, when I first heard about the place, that it was a reference to God as the Master Potter and shaper of our lives (that was part of the reason I wanted to go there). When we got there, we learned that the reference was, indeed, to the Lord. I bought a beautiful Rebekah pitcher there, and then John sent me out to sit on the porch while he did some "secret" work. As I sat on the porch, a worship song called "The Potter's Hand" came to mind, and I sang it to myself while enjoying the rocking chair and the lovely view. A couple of weeks ago, a box arrived from His Hands. It contained a beautiful new angel for my collection, with long curly hair like mine. She is holding a red heart, and John gave her to me for Valentine's Day.

About two weeks ago, a lady named Elizabeth whom I know from church called and asked me if I wanted to participate in the service on Feb. 25th, which would be planned, led and run completely by the women of the congregation. I said sure, and offered to sing. Immediately after hanging up, I thought "have you lost your mind?" and started getting nervous about what I had just volunteered to do. Sing a solo? What was I thinking?

There was a particular song I wanted to perform, one of my favorites by Chonda Pierce called "God Loves You". I had purchased the backup track for this song several years ago. Unfortunately, it was only available on cassette. The tape had spent months in my car. When I pulled it out and played it, I discovered what the impact of that time had been - it was wrecked and sounded terrible! Mostly, I could hear the tape machine beginning to "eat" it. Uh-oh. So now what?

I spent a while searching on the internet, and found downloadable backup tracks. Unfortunately, that song was not among them. I did find several other songs I knew, though, purchased them and burned them to CD. I planned to sing a song called "The Heart of Worship", because every time I began to feel nervous about singing, I felt God saying "this is not about YOU". That song talks about "coming back to the heart of worship, and it's all about you, Jesus", so it seemed the perfect fit for what I was hearing from God. I practiced it several times. And then I practiced another song I had downloaded, also one I had heard performed by Chonda Pierce, called "The Potter's Hand" (you see, these stories ARE connected!)

On Saturday afternoon, I went to the church to practice. I sang both songs, and Ivey (the church worship leader) said he thought I should do "The Potter's Hand". Frankly, I think that's because I sang it better, having gotten the nerves worked out while singing "Heart of Worship". But, as I learned this morning, God was using Ivey to tell me what He needed me to hear.

So, this morning, I arrived at church, still nervous, still hearing God say "but it's not about YOU", and basically ready to sing. Then, as is always the way with God, things started to fall into place. There was a skit performed right before I sang, and it taught that we must allow the Holy Spirit to lead us in our lives, specifically in showing the truth of God to others. I felt that was a good fit with the song, which says "take me, mold me, use me, fill me, I give myself to the Potter's hand; call me, guide me, lead me, walk beside me, I give myself to the Potter's hand".

So I sang my song. About three-quarters of the way through the song, there is a quiet part. When I first started practicing with the track, I thought "what the heck am I going to do with this?" I practiced just humming softly through that section. But today, while I was singing the song, I got the answer to what to do with that portion of the song. God gave me the words, and I said something to the effect of "as the ladies showed us in their skit, we need to allow the Holy Spirit to lead us; the way to do that is to ask Him to fill us; this week, when I was practicing, God told me this is not about me; it's not a performance, it's worship of Him; so join me in worshiping and asking the Holy Spirit to fill and use you". Several ladies did join in, singing the final chorus with me. I hope it was a blessing to them, as it was to me.

Also, while singing I noticed one lady who was crying. It was incredibly humbling to realize that, through all my stumbling, nervousness, and trying to decide which song to sing, God had still used me to touch someone's heart. That song was what she needed to hear this morning, and the fact that God blessed her through me was an incredible priviledge.

When Ann gave the message for the morning, one of the verses she read was "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us" (2 Cor. 4:7). That really summed it up for me. We are vessels, made by the hands of the Master Potter to show His power, because it is NOT ABOUT US.

Home...and listening to your elders

Home! Well, okay, we've been home for a good while now. Things are really hectic in terms of getting caught back up with your normal life after you have been gone for 4 weeks! We had to take down the Christmas trees when we got back, never mind paying the bills, putting the house back in order, and myriad other tasks! I really loved our vacation, but I was (and am) also thrilled to be back home.

Today, I took a walk through Springer's Point. I was sitting on the rocks on the beach when I saw a lone person walking down the beach toward me. I thought it was Roy, who lives down the street, but I wasn't sure. I waited, and as he got closer I realized it was indeed Roy, so I said hello. We ended up chatting and walking back through Springer's Point on the trail together. What a treat that was for me! Roy is 85 years old, doesn't hear all that well, and usually doesn't remember that he already knows me when he sees me, but he remembers a LOT about Ocracoke's past.

As we walked through on the trail, he told me about Sam Jones (who is buried in the nature preserve area). Roy had worked for Sam in the past. When I asked him what year, he wasn't sure, but no matter. He talked about how Sam would give people things they needed (but only if they didn't ask!) and about how much Sam loved his horse, Ikey D., who is buried beside him.

He told me about the house that used to be in the area, and pointed out the spot where he thought it had been. He talked about feeding the birds, and about the recent improvements to the trail, including a new bridge over a low-lying area which used to be quite soggy after a rain, and completely flooded after a good storm.

For a while we walked in silence, enjoying the quiet that characterizes the Springer's Point area. Then Roy stopped and, pointing to the leaves of a particular tree, asked me if I knew what it was. I wasn't sure, but I thought it might be yaupon, so I guessed that. It turned out to be something else entirely. I am terrible at telling trees apart, a fact I shared with Roy. He very patiently explained that you can identify trees by their leaves. Then, as we continued our stroll, Roy pointed out several of the different kinds of trees, pulling a handful of leaves off of each to observe more closely, and told me all their names. We did find a yaupon, and now I know not only what it looks like but how to correctly pronounce the name (at least, how to pronounce it in Ocracoke brogue!)

I enjoyed listening to Roy, and enjoyed his company when we were quiet, too. I have heard that a local photographer is working on a project to record interviews with many Ocracoke elders, and I am pleased that this is being done. In the future, when those who remember old Ocracoke are no longer with us, we will still be able to listen to, and learn from, our elders.