I like to joke that everyone in south Georgia
has their own fishing pond.
It is not much of an exaggeration...
most folks with more than an acre
seem to have a small pond as part of their estate.
Even my dad's property has it's own little fishing pond,
with turtles and catfish and bass and brim.
On my trip to Georgia in April
I went to my cousin's little pond
to see the 18 ducklings they had released there
the previous day.
At first we thought some thing had 'et them,
because the pond was still and clear,
with no sign of baby birds.
But then I looked with my ears as well as my eyes,
and heard a persistent peeping
just down the bank from my feet.
All 18 ducklings were stacked in a little duck pile,
peeping and wiggling and snuggling
as close as they could get.
We're not sure if they were resting
after a busy day of swimming and adventuring,
or if they had been startled or frightened...
but they had returned to their huddle
to protect and warm each other
in the face of the big wide world.
It reminded me of the gathering
of the southeastern United Methodist clergywomen
at Epworth by the Sea only days before.
One evening after worship,
we threw out a few quick invitations,
and ended up with somewhere between
20 and 40 clergywomen from Florida
lining the perimeter of our hotel room.
Sitting hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder,
we shared our names,
our current life situation...vocational and domestic,
and offered one another laughter, support
and salt and vinegar potato chips.
People wonder why I stay United Methodist,
why I keep driving back from North Carolina
for Florida events and gatherings.
It all goes back to the ducks.
While the world is a grand and wonderfilled place,
it is nice to return occasionally
to the huddle
with my family peeps.
Joy to the world, peace has come to my home.
