There’s no telling how many times I’ve crossed Intercoastal Bridge on the way to Surfside Beach, Texas.

I grew up nearby.

I’ve crabbed the bayous, wade fished the surf, cast lines from the jetties, swam the waters, and all the while immensely adding to my chances of skin cancer.     

This time the trip across the bridge didn’t go to the beach but to a marina.  Deep sea fishing.  50 miles out on a chartered boat with my four sons and son-in-law.

It was Friday the 13^th, maybe not the best day to go more than 50 miles out on the wild blue yonder with all my name linage, but that’s what we did.

We met the two fishing guides 30 minutes before daylight, swallowed more Dramamine, and set sail.

We were looking forward to reeling in fish, and hopefully no one getting seasick. Turns out, no one got sick.  Just a great day!

We caught a few red snapper, b-liners and tuna, had some laughs, and didn’t ship wreck on Gilligan’s Island.  

What I remember most though were the first moments of the day pulling out of the marina. 

The sun hadn’t risen over the water yet, but its magic fingers were starting to tickle the dark away.

The captain put on laid-back music that blasted through multiple speakers on the 39-foot boat. 

A song I’d never heard, Keep the Wolves Away by Uncle Lucious, played on the speakers.  That gentle feeling of casting off, the poignant lyrics, and soothing rhythm engraved a feeling in my soul. 

Sitting with my sons back on the stern, the front bow repeatedly rose gently, then dipped right down as if the boat was a floating rocking chair.

The slow ride through the ship channel between the jetties was gentle, peaceful.  There was enough light to recognize landmarks on the jetties, places where we’ve walked, taken pictures, and fished on that one-mile rock walkway. 

The bow continued its rocking in dignified metrics, as if on cue with the gentle swells inside the protected lane.

From the start, the song had me.

“Took my first breath, where the muddy Brazos, spills into the Gulf of Mexico”.

Hmm. That’s my story.

Close by, a tanker slowly moves into a loading slip to gather its cargo going to who knows where.

The mighty rumble of three powerful subdued motors, 300 horsepower each, slowly churn the water, yet mechanically itching to be thrown into high gear to skim across the water floor. 

More lyrics capture my own experience from my dad having worked his entire career here in this area. The verse continued, “Where the working man does his best to provide, safety and shelter, for kids and a wife”.

The sea water, the sound of the beach surf, the smells of sea life, and death, wave their tentacles and draw in the senses.

Looking eastward, the sun begins to sprinkle its lighted fingertips into the darkness of night. The vastness of open waters ahead whispers a beckoning call.

Half a dozen seagulls dive, skimming the waters, searching, seeking any tasty morsel of food.

“Giving a little of his soul each day, making overtime to keep the wolves away”.

The boat’s gentle sway makes one take a relaxing breath, the kind you take when you’re really tired, finally sit down, and your whole body just sinks into a padded chair. 

It was like breathing in life, peace, contentment. The muscles turn over their grip giving way to the rocking motion of the two-to-three-foot swells just as assuredly as the beach moves between land and waves as salty water endlessly flows over and out.

The tip of the sun ball peeks above the horizon. 

The sun shines. The water reflects. Soon, it’s too much, too bright to look at.

Sunglasses come out. 

A sweet harmony of mellow guitars, the whistling with the bluesy music plays over the speakers. 

Soon, the three hundred horses turning below the water catapult us into a powerful bouncing from crest to crest taking us far beyond the sight of land.  

Another adventure, more memories.

Be still, my soul, and listen! For what I remember most, no, actually what I feel the most, was the early morning birth of the day.  

It was as if God Himself was cradling us in His hands, like a newborn baby swallowed in its mother’s arms before the activities of the day wipes away the peace of the moment. 

It’s too good not to pass on the blessing! It’s too peaceful not to share!

So, may you too be blessed.

Good or bad, may you understand your roots, yet direct where your branches reach.  

May you know the peace of this moment before the activities of today. 

May you smell the sweetness in your world.

May you hear clearer, see farther, taste more, feel deeper.

And more than anything, may you know God’s cradling hands and put your trust in the only One who can truly, keep the wolves away.

May it be so.