I’ve been coming to the same stretch of Michigan sand every summer for 64 years. Although the dimensions of the beach have changed each year based on the depth of the lake, one thing hasn’t changed in 100 years: the creek.

As kids we played endlessly in Deer Creek, a shallow, moving mini-river of water flowing mysteriously out of dark woods into the lake. Despite summers when algae grew on its surface or bark turned the water brown, nothing could keep us out of that creek.

If we left the beach and followed it back into the deep woods where it was cool on hot days, we would find treasure beneath the water: minnows, sparkle-rocks and best of all, gray clay. During the carefree days before we hit the double-digit years, we were sure this clay was the key to flawless beauty. Working carefully on ourselves and each other to cover every square inch of exposed skin, we’d emerge from the woods looking like a potter’s wheel had gone berserk. A quick swim, however, would remedy the matter.

In the 1950’s, the creek mosquitoes were so thick we looked like a batch of measle-infected kids. One summer a dozen of us decided to follow the creek as far as we could, knowing it “went forever.” By the time we’d traveled less than a mile, stirring up mosquito nests all along the way, I had so many bites I actually became immune to them. After that, whenever a mosquito bit me, no red bump would develop. I tested it again and again, watching while the bug filled with my blood. The immunity is still good today.

Sometimes wild winds knocked trees down, placing them as perfect bridges. We’d run back and forth, competing to see who could cross the fastest before misstepping and crashing into the water. During moments of rest, we’d straddle the “bridge” and talk for hours, sharing childhood’s secrets. I credit our parents with the gift of letting us roam free. Not everyone is that fortunate.

Last summer Jack and I had a carefree adventure of our own. Since the creek flows through the woods directly behind our cottage, we decided to walk home from the beach in the creek. Between fallen trees, slippery rocks, tangled roots, knee-deep water and low-hanging branches, we barely made it. But I felt like a kid again, and it was worth the effort.

There aren’t many children following the creek these days. Maybe their parents are worrying about accidents and stitches. It’s a long way from the beach to the emergency room. Maybe they’re nervous about who else might be in the woods, although there’s never been an incident. Maybe the kids are all on the internet or playing video games. Whatever the reason, they’re missing out on one of summer’s delights.

My goal as a mom was to be sure our kids appreciated God’s handiwork the way I’d learned to do, motivating me to push/pull them outdoors. Even studying the tiny body of a mosquito teaches of God’s attention to detail and establishes admiration in the heart of a child. Although God fully understands the internet and should get full credit for the World Wide Web, catching minnows in a beach towel or harvesting a bucket of sticky clay beats computer fun any day.

“God saw all that he had made, and it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31)

A couple of days ago I found myself driving in Chicago, heading to an appointment. As I waited at a red light, a dark blue SUV turned right in front of me… with Nate at the wheel!

I gasped and felt my heart stop. His window was down, and I could see his face clearly. Craning my neck to stare as he drove past me and away, I could hardly yank myself back to reality.

Of course I knew it wasn’t him. Impossible! But my senses briefly told me otherwise. Lining up what couldn’t have been true with what was true was like trying to straighten a deck of cards lying askew. It took some effort and more than a few seconds. Horns began honking for me to respond to the green light, and I quickly stepped on the gas, but it would be a while before I regained my composure.

As kids we were told, “Wishing doesn’t make it so.” My constant wish that Nate was still with me must have been the reason I’d “seen” him driving by. It was just my mind playing tricks on me. There isn’t one hour of any day that I don’t think about him, and it’s not much of a leap to then “see” him.

Last week I heard something new about my husband, a mini-story one of his friends shared with me thinking it was “just a little thing.” But to me it was a bit of precious treasure, because Nate can no longer participate in making any new stories. Those of the past are all we have.

This friend had explained how a statement Nate made nearly two years ago had come back to him recently when he was trying to get through a tough experience. Despite Nate being gone and his comment being old, this friend had been given practical encouragement to persevere in his struggle. It brought pleasure to me to know Nate’s influence was still being felt, as if he really was still with us.

If Nate was alive and had listened to his friend tell the story, he might not even have remembered making the comment. And yet there was still power in it, and that’s the lesson for all of us. People are listening. People are watching. This is especially true when we aren’t aware of it. Of course not everything Nate said was quote-worthy. As for me, I don’t think anything I’ve said is quote-worthy. But we can all attempt to speak and act in ways that uplift others.

Today I’ve been thinking about having “seen” Nate in the SUV and also in his friend’s story. Both were a glimpse of him. I think I value the story far more than the “sighting”, thrilling that it was, because there’s an important distinction between the two. One view was fantasy, and the other was truth.

“Buy the truth, and sell it not; also wisdom, and instruction, and understanding.” (Proverbs 23:23)