Today I needed this poem, to remember that God knew that very moment…and this one, too.
Remembering Crawdads
Sixteen miles from my home,
the White River curves slightly to the south.
In the fall, we sat near its edge,
as my friend’s two boys caught crawdads
that scrambled under stones in a puddle
formed by the roots of a sycamore.
The two boys, so patient, so fast, raced toward us,
rewarded by the catch of a crawdad no bigger than my thumb,
flipping in the net.
At first shrieking with delight, they quieted to study the feelers;
the wet, beady eyes;
the armor-like tail, curved and flipping.
My friend and I leaned in to admire.
I stared.
I stared, because I had forgotten about crawdads.
I forgot that there were nearly translucent crustaceans
whisking along the murky mud of the White River,
snapping their pincers and slipping under rocks.
I forgot that God planned it all, from the beginning,
that He cared about tiny crawdads
and eager preschoolers
and their mothers
and fall afternoons in Indiana.
I forgot that He knew that very moment,
when two young boys forming the bones of manhood
would feel the thrill of the chase, the hunt, the catch.
He knew those boys, holding up crawdads for us to gaze and admire.
He knew that I would suddenly remember it all,
and give thanks.
* * * * *
© 2002 Ann Kroeker
Those boys chasing crawdads, will be soon chasing girls. The thrill of the hunt, the chase and the catch.
I am working on a post about Robert asking my Dad permission to marry me. There was someone else he needed to ask first – – – my heavenly Father. He spent some time there wrestling about this question, but finally God said, yes. You have time yet to bend those flexible minds and wills to God’s will, but it must be done in prayer, because by now you have as a mother probably said all they will hear.
Hazel, your upcoming post sounds beautiful. And, oh! Oh, that all our children and all of us would turn to God in prayer and find strength, hope, wisdom, and rest in Him.
Yes, he knows every moment… “two young boys forming the bones of manhood.” And the cries of the heart. He knows. Thank you for the reminder.
Yes, and we bear witness where we can…while we can.
Did I know you wrote poetry? I LOVE this. And God planned it all from the beginning. Giving thanks for you.
Ah, Sandra, I was an English major in college with a creative writing emphasis, and my focus was poetry. I never thought I was very good, because I rarely crammed my words and heart into restrictive forms. But my free verse seemed to work well. I was published in the undergraduate poetry journal, and I won a citywide poetry contest. My work at that time tapped into my years growing up on a farm, and I think the rural subject matter was appealing in the university setting…set apart.
The affirmation I received through my work in poetry gave me the vision and confidence I needed to become a writer.
However, over the years I have written less and less poetry as I’ve written more and more prose. In certain moments, however, it seems that poetry is the best way for me to process some things. I dragged out today’s poem because of a deep loss I’m processing…the loss of a young person whom I have known since his birth 15 years ago. He is one of the young men in this poem, and I wanted to remember this crawdad moment that I shared with him, and that I happened to capture in words eleven years ago.
Love this, Ann–Indiana allusions and all!
Thanks, Laura. I think most people call crawdads “crayfish.” I purposely left the regional word in, and the White River and then threw in Indiana, in case people really needed help placing it. 🙂
I love this, Ann. Thanks so much for re-posting it (you did post it before?? or not?). I love it when you just write. JUST WRITE. I know your life doesn’t leave you much room for it, but I sure do enjoy it when you find some space. A lot.
Diana, thank you for this nudge. Spring is a full time for families, and I am now walking with a friend through a deep and tragic loss. I may have to lean on poetry more than prose, but even poetry I may be able to *just write*. You are a gift.
I am so terribly sorry to read of this loss, Ann. Praying for peace for you and for his family as you all grieve. Oh, so hard.
God knows and you see. I am thankful that you have eyes that see. When they are ready they will want this reminder too. Dear friend.
Oh, Linda. Thank *you* for hearing and seeing. I will try to find the right time.
Oh my…this was painful for me. We eat crawfish every year as we stop and enjoy all the delicious food in New Orleans. I almost feel bad about my massive consumption of these yummy cajun treats. I never envisioned them alive before. Thanks for your powerful piece Ann.
Trish, thank you for going there with me…even to the life and loss of the lowly crawdad.
Loving you from here. Thinking of those two boys…and yes. He knows.
Laura, thank you for loving so well. A belated birthday wish to you, friend.
Ann, your college path sounds familiar to me. These words, their depth, their compression. . . and then to see the “why” of your return to them now. . . I want to sit beside you silently in the vast grief that comes with 15 and gone.
So, so sorry, Dear one.
Have you written about your college path, Sheila? Point me to a post on the story, if you have (and perhaps write it, if you haven’t!). And I see that you have taken extra time to scan these comments, to see more deeply. That means so much. Thank you for your friendship, and for understanding this…