Turtle Love Letters

That sweet whisper. It’d felt like ages since I heard His voice, months of aching silence. Then, the first verse I read that day, the day after I’d intentionally stilled and tried to reorient myself: Psalm 83:1 “God, don’t shut me out; don’t give me the silent treatment, O God” (Msg). And there along the edge I paused and scratched out this prayer—“please! Please not now. I need you like I need breath. I need to hear you.”

I distractedly read the rest of the psalm. At the end, I breathed, “Was there even anything hopeful there?” So, I focused and re-read the words. No, nothing. Nothing uplifting at all. I curiously turned that tissue paper thin page. There, written in red ink, my penmanship, “Animals in heaven.” I’d scribbled those words across sacred text in 2017.

Psalm 84 describes God’s house, His home—animals dwelling there. Since Bentley’s puppy days, I’ve begged Abba-God to take her to heaven when her days here are finished, and I’ve had simple, childlike trust that He would. Even more so now. As I soul-howl-whispered those words, “please not now; I need to hear you” along the edge of Psalm 83, to turn over the papyrus holy and HEAR immediately from my soul father is no coincidence.

This is a love letter, a beautiful, personal one just for me.

A lesson here: sometimes we just have to turn the page and trust the unknown, the uncharted. Because He loves us oh so much and is only ever, ever kind.

Love letters.

God sends me turtle love letters. It’s remarkable how I look back through my life journey and notice the turtles along the way. Psalm 84, a Korah psalm, details how our lives are roads which God travels (vs. 5-7). Just pause here and marvel at that. It’s exquisite. Our roads aren’t always easy, but He never takes shortcuts. My God, my Jesus, is the road which I journey, but He also travels my life road. And along the way, He sends me turtles like road signs reminding me I’m on the right path, the true way home.

I’ll share three of my love letter turtles:

Eleven months ago, Lily Willow asked us to take her to the ocean for her 5th birthday. We arranged to beach camp on North Carolina’s Outer Banks. On a Sunday morning, early, we took the ferry to and from Okracoke. During the return trip, Rudy and Lily walked to the back of the ferry to feed cherries to the seagulls. But I felt a tug to stay rooted in my place near the front, searching for marine life, almost trance-like. Though it was sea turtle nesting season and we’d seen nests along the shore, I’d just overheard the captain sharing with a passenger that sea turtle sightings were uncommon. That time alone, pointing forward, onward, I spent in prayer, silently asking my God-Creator for a sea turtle.

And just there, in the flickering sun rays among rocking waves, a golden belly and flippers! Sea turtle. Love letter.

Speechless in awe, tears leaked from joy and a hint of disbelief. Why, why is there an ever-present shadow of unbelief? I mean, the captain, who has spent much of his life charting these waters, had just stated that this was rare. But not with my God! Standing there near the rail, leaning over as far as I dared, staring across ocean, I was humbled in gratitude. Heart nearly bursting, I asked, “Did you really just send me a sea turtle?!” In that sweet, still, sacred way that only God-spirit can commune with soul-spirit, He answered, “Why wouldn’t I send you a sea turtle. You asked me for one. I love you wider and deeper than this entire ocean. How could I not send my daughter what her heart so longed for?” Love letters.

Nearby our home, there’s a little trail, winding around a pond, where the girls and I walk nearly every day. This particular day was weary, and I felt lost, lonely, and overwhelmed. Always, always, Lily and I search for turtles sunning on submerged logs or rocks. But that day, coming down the hill on the backside of the pond, water stretched out in front of us, sun illuminated dozens of little turtle heads poking up from rippled water into air. Breath. And I heard Him, then, clearly—“You are known. You are loved. You are held.”

Love letters. It’s been almost a month ago now that we met my sister, Leah, to hike New River Gorge. The wild, the nature, the lush life was exhilarating! Back home for a few days, Rudy began having episodes of shortness of breath and extreme fatigue, unusual for him. A couple days later, I found a tick deeply embedded into his side. Two days later, he developed fevers and a rash. On a Sunday morning, first thing, I drove him to immediate care, a bit of residual trauma from his aortic aneurysm weighing on me. He was exhibiting many of the same symptoms.

There! Just up ahead, at the roundabout, was a dark lump—a turtle, head up, unafraid!

Immediately, I knew. God placed her there and all would be well. Then, anxiety sweeps again as we sit there, Rudy pouring sweat like he’s just emerged from ocean, blood pressure much too low, medical staff concerned. What if? What if it’s another aneurysm? But the turtle, I remembered the turtle, a signpost, a love letter.

Rudy was eventually diagnosed with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, treated, and has recovered. My God wanted me, needed me, to know He was there journeying my life road along with me. Love letters. Postcards. Turtles.

The closing verses of Psalm 84 describe God’s generosity as being lavish. Yes. Yes He is. His gifts, His love are lavish and reckless. He’s crazy in love with us.

Sea turtles are fascinating creatures with much to teach us. Are you aware that female sea turtles travel up to 4000 miles, to return to the very shore on which they hatched, to nest? On our journey, our life-road, when we find ourselves miles from home, there is always the ability to reorient and ride the current which is Abba-God back home, back to Himself. He never leaves. We are always, always able to return home.

With Bentley’s recent and unexpected diagnosis of untreatable liver failure, I’ve cried so many tears, blazing hot, salt water rivers down my face. This part of my journey feels lonely, treacherous, and heart wrenching. It feels like I’m walking, crawling really, alone, helpless, afraid, and unseen. All those salty tears, like ocean water, though? Not one is wasted or unseen.

Did you realize that because a sea turtle’s diet is ocean-salty and the sea turtle only drinks salt water and because all of this salt isn’t healthy for the turtle’s body, the sea turtle, magnificent being, excretes the excess salt from the eyes? Sea turtles cry. They were created with this intricately beautiful ability. And as I learned this, I knew (know) that I, my tears even, am seen and held and loved. He is my current carrying me home.