The Catfish Pond

The Catfish Pond

It all started about 1975. I was in a startup group home for boys called the Haven House, located on Shepherd Street right off Hillsborough Street in Raleigh. There was a great deal of controversy surrounding the establishment of this group home in the beautiful neighborhood of the small Raleigh community. 

The neighbors were not happy about our arrival. I was number eight out of ten boys who would live there for the next year. There was really no time limit to our stay; that was just their best estimate.

To bring this into perspective, there were ten at-risk boys living in a home situated in a beautiful community near Cameron Village and the Rose Garden. What does this have to do with a catfish pond? It has everything to do with that pond, as that’s where it was created. 

Let me list the wonderful and inspiring individuals who were house parents at the Haven House. There was Peter. All he did was write all day long, documenting our stories as they were happening. There was Barbra. She wore a long robe and flip-flops and smoked a pipe. I can still smell that pipe till this day. The pleasant aroma of the pipe matched her beauty; she was always asking, “Are you ok? Are you doing well?” Then there was Michael, who was the hippie of the group. He was composed and consistently worked to calm us down and keep the peace, always striving to defuse situations and support us at-risk kids. I’m not sure if this group knew what they signed up for. Nonetheless, Michael was up for the challenge. He would gather us up a few times a week to teach us how to connect with our inner being; he called it meditation. We had a name for it, but you probably don’t want to know what it was. We were just teenagers trying to figure out life and how we fit in. 

He always sat us in a circle in an upstairs room and told us to close our eyes and imagine a pond, a beautiful sun, grass fields, light wind, and earth on our skin. He told us to breathe in and out, inhale and exhale, until we were at a place of solace. A tranquil place of peace! It actually worked. We sat for hours like this, and when we came out of this state, we seemed to be different people. The peace and this place of safety gave us hope. Despite the pain, suffering, and destruction we faced, we had hope that we would make it one more day. I adopted this way of life at an early age and named this place the catfish pond. Each one of us there never saw the place the same, just as it is in life.

The catfish pond is where I would go when trouble was on the horizon or seemed to be near to me. It was a place of solitude that brought me freedom and comfort. It was my safe place. It was where I was taught to go to in my time of need. It calmed me and brought me peace. Then life happened, and I left Haven House and 28 Shepherd Street became a memory. A wonderful memory it was. 

Over the next few years, I would often go to the catfish pond, remembering those breathing exercises that brought me to that wonderful place. 

Some forty-seven years later, I would find myself in a place full of stress, exhaustion, and lack of life. I found myself sitting in the place I had been familiar with in my younger years, the therapy couch. If you have read my other stories, you know that I am extremely transparent about my therapy. I’m not suggesting that we should rely solely on therapy, but that we all need support in sorting things out from time to time. 

God is wondrous, and He has placed extraordinary people in our lives for a reason. My therapist is not only a professional but also a good friend. I often say our paths have crossed in a remarkable way, and I am grateful for that. 

We are almost three years in, and I’m still learning about me and the details that have helped me to become me. So how does the catfish pond fit in this story, you may ask? Well, about a year into my sessions, the therapist decided to ask me to do some breathing exercises. Oh my, I thought, let’s do this. As we breathed in and out, she said, “Relax, deep breaths, inhale, exhale, deep breaths. In through your nose and hold it, then exhale. Let’s do that again and again.” The breathing exercise can go on for a minute to several minutes; it just depends on your mental state. 

Then it appeared out of nowhere; the catfish pond was right in front of me. I hadn’t been there for more than forty-seven years. It was still as beautiful as ever. 

I can see it now; it has changed so much, but it’s still so magnificent. The glowing sunshine, perfect temperature, blue skies, and lovely green grass flowing in the wind. There are new things here at the catfish pond. A small stream flowing into the pond that reads on the surface: peace, joy, love, and harmony.

As I try to enter it, I am met by an outer ring of exquisite white crystal-like sand. As I walk through it, it’s not like sand you and I think about, but it looks like diamonds with the same texture as sand. It’s about a twelve-foot-wide ring that is met by a dome of sorts. 

You can’t enter here if you are stressed. I think for a moment during my journey there: this is where I can come to relieve my stress and seek peace and harmony in my life. The voice continues to say, “Breathe, inhale, exhale,” until I am allowed to enter into the place of peace, harmony, love, and joy. I step into this place and know instantly that I am where I am supposed to be. The catfish pond has grown so much over the past forty-seven years. I walk in and am greeted by many friends and family. Not much talking at all, more observing. 

Let me describe what is in this pond. First, it’s not just a pond but a glorious and vast body of water. It’s turquoise, and the shore has white sand. There are so many people there resting in peace. I know all of them. 

I believe this is the place where Jesus speaks because this is His place. The dome above sprinkles down mercy, grace, peace, joy, and love. Just like the stream that follows into this place. 

At the catfish pond, my beautiful Lisa is smiling at me and is right by my side, holding my hand. She motions to me that it’s going to be okay. My grandchildren are fishing there, but the fish are unlike any you could ever imagine. The catfish are talking to the children and playing along with them while they swim on their fishing pole lines. They are enjoying the peace and solace that this activity brings all of us. 

When you step into this place, you are instantly void of all outside influences. Over to the right of the pond, I see my mom relaxing. She smiles at me as to say, “Thank you.” I see my brother, Chris, who loved to fish, standing by my grandchildren, teaching them the things an expert fisherman would teach. He’s found peace in his life finally. My daughters are here, resting and relaxing with their husbands. The therapist is here, observing the dynamics of this place and how it significantly contributes to bringing peace and harmony to humanity. 

Then there is this reality. There are others here as well. I can’t see them, but I sense them in my spirit. They are searching for the same peace that I am experiencing here. There are times I can speak a name and they will answer to that. I know they are searching for the same thing I am—peace, love, harmony, and joy. My friends from my past, who have gone by the way of their own demise, are here. I’m not sad they are here; they create no drama here. I wish for them to experience what I have: peace in this world, joy in my soul, and harmony in my spirit. Love encompasses all of this. 

There are those who try to invade the catfish pond, but they cannot. For the most part, I am unaware of this but feel their presence from time to time. There are only a few rules to enter into this place: no drama, no hate, and no confusion. The fountain of mercy and grace that flows here is immeasurable. The joy that is rained down here is more than we can take in, and love is abounding in this place. It’s amazing grace! 

The dome of the catfish pond is vast and contains miles of transparent words that circle it like a covering, speaking of joy, hope, love, and harmony; join us in this. It speaks the name of Jesus, declaring the hope of life and the peace that He brings us. Whatever you make of this place, it has grown over the past forty-seven years and now is a place that I visit often. 

His name is power; His name is Jesus; and His name is life. He has broken so many strongholds in my life here, bringing me the healing that I so desperately needed. 

Let Him heal you! Do you think you want to visit the catfish pond? Close your eyes and start the journey. 

www.sandwestedit.com 

 

WORDS

 WORDS

In this story, I think it’s necessary to defend and define my addiction. That’s not the purpose of the story, but it would help you read it more clearly without wondering who and what I am talking about. 

Addiction and obsession carry a heavy stigma. I’m not concerned with what you might think of me—this isn’t about you. However, obsession and addiction affect numerous people, and their impact on me is real. 

My goal in this story is to take you behind the scenes into a time of addiction and obsession, showing how these two terms are alike but ultimately distinct. It’s almost like a game of tag within your entire being. 

Now, that being said, is this story fiction or non-fiction? Please don’t over-interpret. The true addict and/or the truly obsessed knows only by living it. I believe every human has an addiction and obsession one in the same to some degree. 

Defined:  

Obsession: According to the Psychology Dictionary, fixation refers to a persistent attachment to an object or idea, often resistant to attempts to modify it. Psychology Tips explains that obsessive love is an overwhelming desire to possess another person, highlighting the depth of emotional attachment involved.

Addiction: Defined by psychology professionals, addition is a neuropsychological disorder characterized by a persistent and intense urge to use a drug or engage in a behavior that produces a natural reward, despite substantial harm and other negative consequences (Wikipedia).  

So, which is it? An obsession or an addiction? Let’s go inside the head of an addict and/or one who is obsessed. It’s so dark in here, but light when looking out. There is beauty in this place, but darkness covers everything. You can’t see it, but it’s real. You can’t hear it, but it controls your every move. You don’t even know what’s going on in here. We are just living and thinking everything is great, and we are doing okay.

My addiction is my obsession. I am addicted to weaving words together and obsessed with creating a story that will make a difference in humanity. These stories release some type of intoxicating drug in my mind that brings me a great peace and harmony in my soul that surpasses any drug or drink I’ve ever had. You may be thinking that my addiction is a wonderful and admirable one to have. I will beg to differ because it takes up twenty hours a day of my mind and has no boundaries of ideas. It’s all consuming and forever looking for the next sentence and the next word for the story. 

I’ve asked God to take my sight so many times, but ultimately, that would lead me to be trapped in my mind with memories of a lifetime to write about. 

I’m an addict and one who is obsessed with my addiction. I know that statement may not make any physiological sense, but this is true. The definitions mentioned earlier suggest that one is some type of disorder that seeks to engage in behavior that has negative consequences, and the other suggests that there is a preoccupation of the mind that eventually will cause a negative effect on my life. 

The problem is that in our society, we love to label everything. We live to label and identify the invisible and what we really don’t understand. We include a label to identify these invisible entities and then think we can understand them and draw some type of conclusion about them.  

I want to take you on a journey in my life for the day. I want you to understand how this obsession with my addiction impacts me and those who are involved in my life.

Here we go. Waking up at two or three in the morning, listening to that voice in my head. Yes, there is a voice that is speaking to me, but unfortunately, I am the only one who hears it. It is speaking ever so softly of what the day ahead is going to look like. What and how are we going to feed this addiction, and how is the obsession going to help us complete our goal? 

If you haven’t noticed by now, there are more than one in this psychological warfare. Here is the problem: we don’t know we have a problem.

I try to go back to sleep, and sometimes I am successful. I feel the best in the morning when I go back to sleep. Either way, the day goes on. Waking up early, I roll out of the bed, and before I can even see the sunlight, obsession is speaking and addiction is driving me into the place I may or may not want to be. It’s a slow and dark place at times; so many emotions and tears are in this place. Sometimes I want to go and sometimes I fight it. Today, I choose to fight! I know I won’t win, but I still tell myself it will be different. 

Time is so valuable here. I do everything I can do to convince myself otherwise. The morning proceeds either with or without me; time doesn’t care about me. It goes on. I am trying to process these emotions that I know will hit hard, and I wonder if I will be able to connect with time and with those who care about me today. Will I be able to see these words come to life? Will I be able to put together a full sentence? It’s already noon, and the voices of my addiction and the obsession I have are screaming at me now. 

Will I give in? Of course, I will. I’m an addict, and I am obsessed with this addiction. I am who the liar says I am. I have given into the lie of who I am and the reality of how we perceive ourselves. This brings great sadness to my soul because I know I am better than this. I know I am not the lie that is now my reality. Good or bad, an addict is an addict, and we are obsessed with that. 

As I move into the evening, the struggle becomes more intense. By now I have worked all day to get to this place. It’s either a place of release, peace, solace, grace, mercy, and love, or a place of darkness, sad emotions, confusion, and a constant fight within my mind. This battle is so real that only death can truly separate me from my internal struggle. 

Finally, I sit, and it all comes out. Even when I don’t see it, it comes out; the words turn to light, the page turns, and the words come to life. There seems to be a real pull-down heaven screen working in the background. The broken come to life in this moment. I come to life in this moment! The life of addiction and obsession is where you go, I will go, and what you say, I will say.

The life of an addict is one obsessed with a lie; it’s the life of all of us who struggle every day with who we are and what we are doing. Are we all one and the same? Our identity is the lie that we have adopted. Which do we choose on any given day? The lie or the reality? Is it a lie? Where you go I go, what you say I say.

Are we the depressed, the junkie, the fake influencer, the one step from ending it all, the downtrodden, the poor, and the helpless, or are we who God says we are? God, who chased down our hearts, despite all of our failures, and gave us life? A life of purpose, a life of joy, and a life of addiction and obsession with Him! Once lost but now found; I’m not so certain.

We are designed by God to be obsessed and addicted to something. Yes, He designed us to be that way! Like it or not, that is who we are. This world has so many varieties of lies and realities. So many addictions and so many things to bring obsessions to us. Which do we choose? Are we broken into pieces or do we think we are all together?

I fall short so many times, even in my own writings. I am obsessed and addicted to my own words as they come to life on these pages, constantly thinking about what I am going to put on paper today. What is next and how is that next sentence going to make a difference? I struggle to put my God in the front of all my words. I may win this time, but I know I will fail and that’s okay. There is a sea of mercy and grace that covers EVERYTHING!

We all struggle with these obsessive addictions; there is so much noise in this world and some noise is louder than others. With that said, some addictions are stronger, and the obsessions take the lives of those in the hardest struggle. I have so many friends who didn’t make it. Their addiction and obsession took them. I believe it wasn’t their choice but the lie that they believed. Those of us now in the struggle need to be a voice to those who are still alive. 

No matter what your addiction and obsession is, there is always hope. Let Hope Rise in humanity—we will make it! There are those that can testify far greater than me to this Glory!

We are designed to be obsessed and addicted to Jesus! I wish it was that easy! It’s the scandal of grace so that my soul will live. You are my addiction and obsession forever, and my hope is in you, Jesus! 

We live and write for those who don’t know yet.

www.sandwestedit.com 

       

Room Six

 Room Six

This Inn is a one-of-a-kind place. It’s where dreams are kept and where peace is found. It’s where memories are made and relived. It’s where time stands still and your mind finds solace. 

It’s nestled right on the banks of the Cape Fear River in a small, beautiful North Carolina town. It only has eight rooms, each with its own charm. Six of the rooms have a semi-private porch divided by some wooden slats that go almost to the ground. The old wooden porch swing is my favorite. Each of the riverside rooms has one. They still use keys for the rooms. 

This quaint place is named The Grand Banks Inn.

This time we stayed in room number six for the entire week. Upon arrival, we were greeted by our host who told us, “If you need something, just call me. The keys are on the table in the room.” 

We were unloading the car for what seemed like an eternity. I complained as usual, and Lisa just looked at me and smiled. As the event continued, other thoughts began to unpack in my mind. I wondered who was staying in room five or room seven. These are all the things I think about when staying in an inn. I think if you played the song, “Hotel California” by Eagles, it would match the Inn. As the song says, “you can check out, but you can never leave.” 

As we were finishing the unloading process, the door to room seven opened, and a younger couple emerged. They looked like they were in their forties. I made eye contact, and I shook hands with my eyes. Only a few people will ever get this. It’s a silent gift that some have. You can have a complete conversation with just your eyes, and we did. It went like this to the both of them, “Hello, how are you? You’re in seven, and we are in six. Good to meet you; we can chat later…then blink. 

Well, wouldn’t you know it. I got sick that week and was unable to do anything. So, while Lisa went to walk each day, I sat on the old porch swing and enjoyed that breeze that came off the river from the ocean. I was working on a previous story titled, “Oh Snap.” It’s what I call a dark story, but it has a hopeful ending. As I pressed through it, I realized that room seven was out on their porch. They were extremely quiet, not conversing much.

I mustered up enough strength to get to the swing each day to focus and write the story I was working on. I usually wear headphones and listen to what I call my writing music, but for some reason, I decided to listen to the peaceful sounds of nature. The swing would rock back and forth and back and forth. I had my laptop out, writing what I thought was a masterpiece. I laugh at myself, saying that because each story I write is not for you but for me; it’s a release of emotions that brings healing to me every time. In the back of my mind, I hope these stories will help someone. 

Lisa had gone on another long walk about midday. I was in the swing writing and enjoying the sun, and then I heard the door to room seven open and close. I heard the lady talking on the phone. The man was already sitting on the porch. I could see his feet dangling. I couldn’t make out what she was saying other than, “Are you sure? Are you one hundred percent?”

The wind had silence in it, as if I was supposed to hear something. There were no boats, no people, no birds, no nothing, just her saying, “Are you sure?” She told the caller, “Okay.” 

There was silence like I’ve never heard. I was still trying to focus on the actual story I was fully involved in. It was so difficult to focus. She then told her husband, “The test results are in, and I am terminal. The cancer has taken a turn, and there is no hope of recovery; I am terminal. I have two weeks to live.” She joined him on the swing, both feet dangling in the sun, barely touching the ground. They pushed back and forth and back and forth.

He got up and walked into the yard by the river, looking up as if he was asking God Himself for help. I could see the distress in his countenance. She joined him with a beautiful hug in the sunlight as to say, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to be ok. They both started to walk back to room seven, and our eyes took yet another handshake. It’s going to be ok, I said. You are going to make it; I promise you that. Never underestimate the power of the eyes, the look, the glance, the stare, the hug, the kiss, and the touch. It’s all real and it brings comfort. They knew what I was saying; they understood. I had overheard a conversation that wasn’t meant for me, but it now involved me.

Later that evening, Lisa and I were swinging on that old porch swing in room six, overlooking the Cape Fear River. I had not told her what I had heard earlier that day, as I was still processing everything. Lisa is a cancer survivor, so this is a very sensitive topic for her. I had finished writing my story and shared it with her. She always gives great insight into my stories, and as we chatted about the story, it led to a very common conversation for us.

We started talking about what we always talk about, things of life. As we stared at the stars in the heavens and the waters all around us, we talked about God; we talked about Jesus and the peace and life He brings to us every day. We talked about the plans He has for us, and the future He has for us. We talked about how His amazing grace brought us from where we were to where we are today. We talked about His saving grace and why we are who we are. This is a regular conversation for us. 

I then shared with her what I had heard from room seven. Lisa was so torn; she wanted to go over and pray with them to bring some hope and some type of rescue to them but realized this was their battle. If they needed to include us, then only God would make that happen. We agreed to pray right then and there for them. We prayed out loud on that porch swing outside room six for those in room seven. PLEASE GOD HAVE MERCY ON THEM. MAY YOUR WILL BE DONE. IF THEY DON’T KNOW YOU, THEN LEAD THOSE THAT WILL SHOW THEM THE WAY. AMEN.

With that, we went to bed that evening, not sleeping too much. I was feeling better the next day and got up a bit early. I noticed that room seven was packing up the car and preparing to leave. At the Grand Banks Inn, it’s not unusual to have both the front and back doors open at the same time. As I stood in my doorway with my sweet Lisa by my side, we all shook hands again with our eyes. Saying to them, we love you; it’s going to be okay. We will be here if you need us and, most importantly, we love you!

Not knowing who they were, we often included them in our prayers. A year has passed now, and we are back for our annual vacation time, a celebration of our love and our restoration. I’ll include that in another story.

This year, as it happened, we were staying in room six. We were unloading, and in the back of our minds, we were wondering about room seven. We got all settled in. The sun was bright, and the wind was blowing ever so softly. 

I peered over to the porch at room seven and noted it was empty. Then I heard a door close. I rushed back to my place on the porch, sitting on the swing, hoping that room seven was occupied.

A man came out and sat on the swing. I could see his feet moving back and forth. He started talking to someone. I was wondering if it was him and hoping that the doctors were wrong. 

I stopped, got up quietly, and walked out into the yard toward the river. A voice came from room seven’s porch. I turned and it was him. He greeted me with a very soft, “Hello.” I returned the greeting. He just stared at me as if to say something and finally said, “You were here last year about this time, right?” 

I said, “Yes, we were.” I didn’t act dumb; I knew she didn’t make it. 

We made it past the introductions, and he told me the whole story about her cancer, her diagnosis, and the final two weeks of her life. Our eyes engaged, and once again, we communicated in silence. He then said, “I have a letter here for you. She wrote it and sealed it up before she passed, with the hopes of me one day seeing you again to deliver it.” 

And the letter read:

Dear Room Six, 

I know we only shook hands with our eyes, but I overheard you and your sweet Lisa, as you called her, talking. I heard you talking about this God and this Jesus that brings peace and hope to your souls. I did hear you talking about a life everlasting and a life in this place called heaven. I wanted you to know that in the last two weeks of my life, God has brought some amazing people into my life. They have shared with me this love of Jesus. I overheard you room six, and I am thankful that I did. Thanks to you, room six, my husband now understands and has this same hope. 

He knows God’s plan for him is to prosper and not harm him. He knows his future is even brighter with this everlasting love. If you are reading this now, you know I overheard. For that, I am grateful beyond words. See you soon!

Signed, 

Room Seven

With that, you never know the power of the spoken word. Choose wisely.

www.sandwestedit.com