The Unlikely Messenger: A Slice of Life with Debra Brown
I’d arrived late for my walk after a Savannah doctor appointment. The summer sun still had hours before sinking in the sky. But arriving so late, with no one else around, unsettled me.
I texted my friend Joyce, “I’m at Bryant Commons.”
She’d started the safety habit by teasing, “If there’s a crime, we’ll know where to start.”
She’d let me know if she’d arrived at a realtor listing alone. I’d make sure she knew my walking location.
Our routine gave us comfort.
As the late afternoon sun warmed my skin and a light breeze moved across the water, I relaxed.
I followed my usual path along the walkway between the two bodies of water at the park, listening to the sound of my steps and the quiet movement around me.
Birds chirped and trilled, hidden in the trees. Turtles stretched along a log. The water looked calm and steady.
Until something caught my eye.
Along the bank, in the still water, a thin shape moved.
“What’s that?” I mumbled.
At first, I thought it was a stick or maybe a small branch drifting beneath the surface. But then it shifted directions. It moved with intention.
I slowed my steps.
Only a bit of it broke the surface, five or six inches gliding through the water near the bank before disappearing again. A moment later, it resurfaced closer to the center of the pond.
Could it be a snake?
The thought came quickly, uninvited.
Do snakes even move like that in water?
What is this … the Loch Ness monster?
I stood on the bank, watching.
The shape slipped beneath the surface once more, leaving only a ripple behind. I scanned the water, unsure whether curiosity or caution was keeping me there.
Then, a few feet away, it surfaced again.
Now I was certain I needed a closer look.
I stepped toward the edge, following the movement along the bank. It vanished beneath the water again, and I waited.
And then it surfaced once more.
This time, there was no mistaking it.
The “snake” rose from the water with a large fish clenched in its beak.
I laughed out loud.
It wasn’t a snake at all. It was a diving bird, probably a black cormorant, lifting its catch and tossing it into the air again and again, trying to position it before swallowing it whole.
I stood there longer than I expected, watching the whole scene unfold. The task seemed impossible. Yet the bird moved with the confidence of a creature created for the task. It continued diving beneath the surface, disappearing into what I couldn’t see, and emerging each time with exactly what it needed.
And just like that, what had first startled me now fascinated me.
The water had settled again, but something inside me hadn’t.
I couldn’t help noticing that my first reaction had been fear.
Not because danger lurked, but because I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Something unfamiliar, moving just beneath the surface, had been enough to make me hesitate.
And isn’t that how it often works?
Not just in nature, but in life.
This year, I stepped into something new in my writing. I auditioned to be a Guideposts devotional writer. Against all odds, they selected me for the writing team. The opportunity brought both joy and fear of the unknown.
It felt like a calling.
But with the calling came moments of uncertainty, especially at night.
Can I do this well?
What does this next step really look like?
What if I can’t produce what they need?
And if I’m honest, there were moments when the unknown tried to overshadow the excitement.
Standing there by the water, watching that cormorant dive without hesitation, I realized something simple:
When God calls us into unfamiliar waters, He doesn’t send us unprepared.
What feels uncertain to us is not uncertain to Him.
God promised He would not abandon us in moments of anxiety, remaining present and faithful even when daytime decisions become nighttime worries.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you” – Isaiah 43:2.
I looked back out over the pond as the bird disappeared once more beneath the surface, the water settling again into stillness.
What had first looked like something to fear soon brought curiosity and understanding.
And maybe that’s how many of our best journeys begin.
Sometimes, we glimpse something out of the corner of our eye that we don’t quite understand yet. It may stir a ripple of fear. But it may also be the needed nudge to dive in, give it our all, and rise to the occasion with more strength and grace than we imagined.
Debra Brown’s motto is “Be the Spark.” She has a passion for family, her 3 cats, flowers, pretty food, and health & wellness. Debra is an author, UGA honors graduate/The Citadel MBA.