One more secret from Deer Lake (apparently, d-e-e-r is the correct spelling of this Lake . . . ugghh . . . details). In my last post, I whispered a secret to you about the power of beauty. How it sneaks up on us and heals us. Like an elixir. And how sometimes we can go long stretches without really seeing, and then all of a sudden we are awed — just entirely awed — by the color green, or the sunset, or the storm coming in over the Lake.

I forgot how healing a beautiful red barn in a green field can be. Or how a summer rain can help you breathe again. Or how driving under a canopy of green trees — literally making your way through a tunnel of the most luscious leaves — can give you back a bit of hope.

Today, I want to whisper one more little secret in your ear . . . something that also struck me like the beauty thing did . . . right there on Deer Lake. Here it is: PLAY.

We took Uncle Paul’s whaler out for a turn on the lake and Steve hooked up a huge inner tube to the back. I jumped in, gave him the thumbs up, and I promptly whipped around the choppy water, laughing my head off.

Back on shore, the baby was napping, Luke was mesmerized by Grammie, and Lane was in the whaler cheering me on. Somehow in this magic moment, all the kids were accounted for and I was skimming off the water in a huge inner tube — body jiggling — giggling and giggling and giggling. And it was like a match was struck and a candle was lit in my heart. Warm, white light. A vigil for all things whimsical.

Sometimes life becomes like a too-tight belt, a stuffy suit, a girdle. We’re holding it all together, but we’re not enjoying it. Do me a favor: take a ride on an inner tube. Turn on the sprinklers in the front yard and run. Let your body jiggle a bit. Laugh your head off. It’s like life will begin again.

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