Chapter Eight

Anchored Down

“ANCHOR DOWN AT THE BOTTOM,” the shirt read.

I was browsing the merchandise in the little marina store while waiting for my turn in line. I had booked a few days at a lake cottage, needing time and space to unpack, do laundry, and reorganize the car. More than anything, I needed a pause.

The Conley Bottom slogan caught my eye—not just because it was catchy, but because it was exactly what I needed: to anchor myself in the middle of all that travel.

During my stay at the lake, I walked a little each day. I got the big camera out again and remembered how much I love life behind the lens. I caught a few detailed moments that drew me closer to God. An ant journeyed over what might have been rough terrain from its perspective—just a leaf from mine. A cluster of heart-shaped leaves reminded me of community, and of all the people who had anchored me throughout my life. Especially through the parts that felt like rough terrain.

I took a chair at the end of the dock and watched a storm begin to roll in. Normally, I would’ve felt fear—but this time, I felt peace. I felt anchored. And I felt gratitude—grateful for my friends.

They knew the importance of the sojourning I had done.

They knew this trip was a temporary return to memories long gone—a search for the joining of two girls: one who left home long ago, and the one still standing there, waiting to be noticed.

They understood the tension I carried—trying to sort what needed to be held onto, and what I needed to release.

They knew that part of finding home was learning to find peace within.

They knew these things, and they loved me.

They knew these things, and they sent me away with support and prayer.

Whether I was coming or going, I felt their steady presence.

They knew these things, and they were rooted in my heart.

They knew these things, and somehow, they related—because we all sojourn, in one way or another.

They knew these things, and we shared Christ together. He was our hope. He was our center. He was our strength.

He was ours—and we were anchored together in Him.

Sisters in Christ. A seriously strong bond.

“This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, a hope both sure and steadfast…”
—Hebrews 6:19

That evening, just a few hours later, I attended my 30th high school reunion—MHS, Monticello High School. The memories were thick. So was the honor. I hadn’t graduated from that school; I left in 7th grade. But still, they included me. That gesture was so healing. So unexpected. So kind.

Our alma mater chant came back to me:
“MHS. Go. Fight. Win!”
A battle cry—even then.

People who hadn’t seen me in 35 years asked, “Where ya been, girl?” I was excited. And nervous to answer that question. I prayed I answered it well.

As I returned to that small-town circle of small talk and catching up, I felt anchored. Secure. Stable.

Like that cluster of heart-shaped leaves, I ended the day surrounded by community—held together by a love that had weathered many storms.