11-10-17
Dismal. It was my term for everything in the season after I went to South Carolina. I had joined my aging parents in an effort to help them navigate the trip. I was driving us all back to the airport for the return flight and I made my dad let me detour on the way to the airport so I could see what the “Dismal River Swamp” was. We kept seeing signs pointing out the place like it was a big tourist attraction not to be missed. Literally, every half mile was another sign announcing the “Dismal Swamp”. When we got there, it was this tiny roadside park along a narrow section of river with very still, very black water.
As we stood there looking at the water about eight or nine pretty, pristine, white sailboats came quietly around the corner as if sneaking up on us from the seclusion of the thick canopy of trees. They quietly and gracefully moved through the river in front of us. With their sails down and their silent trolling motors on; the water beneath the boats barely seemed to move or even ripple. It almost felt like a dream.
We asked someone to explain why we were seeing sailboats on a river. The man told us that further upstream the river made a fork. One fork leads out to the ocean in an area where the current would draw smaller vessels off course. The other fork led to the Dismal River swamp pass where the water was calm and a better path for smaller vessels. The little park was aptly named “Dismal” because the water was so black and there was nowhere to dock due to heavy vegetation along the banks; but it was also supernaturally peaceful. It was as if our souls were collectively singing as the boats gently drifted past us in some kind of ethereal adoration of God’s perfect moment along the bank of this simple roadside park.
The place made an impression on me. It was eerie and peaceful at the same time. It was like a forgotten cemetery, where hundred-year-old oaks drop their heads in mourning and gently lay their limbs over the dead as if to protect their resting place. Of all the places we went (including the impressive naval prison where my cousin works and the OBX “Outer Banks”) the dismal swamp was one place I may never forget. That black, black water and those shining white sailboats painted an unrealistic dreamlike image in my head. I find myself constantly comparing everything to it. My life often feels like that dark black water that is lifeless and unmoving the but the minute I recognize how stagnant things are and lift my eyes to heaven; God brings the shining white sailboats to remind me of His ability to take something as sad as a place named “Dismal” and give it a purpose as great as giving safety to those seeking to stay on course.
May the grace of God be yours forever and the peace I found at Dismal Swamp be your companion during times of chaos.