I’ll admit it. I’m a duck.
Not a plain farmyard duck. And not one of those flashy wood ducks, either. A mallard fits me better.
So picture a mallard in your mind’s eye—peaceful, gliding effortlessly across a lake. Calm. Unhurried. But that apparent serenity can be deceptive. Above the surface, all is still. Below it, two webbed feet paddle furiously—hopefully efficiently, hopefully with purpose and direction.
I can be that duck sometimes. Especially lately.
On the outside, I’m collected. Calm. Focused. Steady at the helm for my family, friends, and patients. That composure is a discipline forged over years of military service, medical practice, and—quite frankly—just living. It served me well in combat zones over Iraq. It served me well in clinics, hospital rooms, and delivery suites during countless life-and-death moments. It has served me well as a husband, father, and grandfather.
It’s just who I am—most of the time.
But don’t be fooled.
Beneath the calm exterior, my mind and heart can look very much like those webbed feet—paddling furiously. Anxiety. Worry. A sense of being overwhelmed. All churning beneath the surface.
So what am I to do?
In those moments, I have to remember that my composure, confidence, calm, and steadiness are not products of my own strength—at least, they shouldn’t be. I’m not that strong. Or that big. Or that good.
When life begins to churn, it’s time to refocus on the Strength that has undergirded me all along.
“You will keep in perfect peach those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in You.” Isaiah 26:3
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