In Charleston, SC, inland saltwater marshes stretch just beyond the coast. At high tide, the tidal creeks winding through them can reach depths of 8 feet. At low tide, only a trickle remains. Each tide brings its own beauty and lessons—if you stay centered in the creek and avoid the banks.
Unfortunately, many tourists—and far too many locals who should know better—venture toward the banks to get a closer look at the beautiful marsh grasses, unaware of the danger that lies just beneath the surface.
Let me explain what happens during low tide.
When the tide is low, walking the tidal creek bed is generally safe. Water is minimal, and the center is usually firm and sandy. At first glance, the landscape seems barren, lifeless. But step off the floating dock now resting on the creek bottom, and begin walking upstream—everything changes. What appeared empty begins to teem with life. The desolation fades as unexpected treasures emerge: intricate shells, scuttling armies of fiddler crabs, prehistoric shark teeth, and thriving oyster beds.
Blue Herons and Snowy Egrets wade gracefully in the shallows. Sandpipers dart across the sand, pecking at unseen morsels. Overhead, a Bald Eagle circles, scanning the landscape, while a Pelican glides silently above the grass. A loud squawk draws my attention to a Heron as it spreads its mighty wings and takes flight. With every step forward, more wonders reveal themselves.
But then curiosity lures me off course—toward the bank.
The ground softens. My feet begin to sink. I’ve entered what we call in the Lowcountry, plough mud—thick, sticky, and deceptively beautiful. The closer I get to the alluring marsh grasses, the deeper I sink. Stand still, and I sink further. Mud climbs to my waist. The once peaceful journey now feels threatening. Panic sets in. Oyster shells begin cutting my legs. I’m alone, unable to move. The surrounding beauty fades, replaced by desperation. I pray.
Then I lift my eyes.
Three of my closest friends are walking on the dock. They see the panic on my face and rush toward me. Without hesitation, they enter the creek and make their way to where I’m stuck. Locking arms, one of them grabs my hand. Together, they pull. Slowly, the suction releases its grip. I’m freed—mud-covered, shaken—but safe in the center once again.
We give thanks to God for their arrival and action. I’ve never appreciated the solid creek bottom so much. As I glance back at the bank, I remember the pain—but also the lesson. I’m more grateful now. Alive. Wiser. And ready for what lies ahead.
Soon, the water begins returning to the creek. The tide will rise. A new tide, with its own beauty—and its own temptations. But I will never forget what I learned at low tide, and how beauty was hidden in what first looked barren.
Since late 2010, I’ve walked through my own low tides.
I experienced deception, betrayal, financial loss, and heartbreak that nearly destroyed me. Rage, hatred, and bitterness consumed my thoughts. I couldn’t let go. I isolated myself from friends and family, sinking deeper and deeper into emotional plough mud.
One day, I didn’t want to fight anymore.
But I picked up the phone and asked a great friend for help.
That call changed everything. With his help—and the help of many others—I slowly began to break free from the mud’s grip. The process was painful. The wounds ran deep. But step by step, I moved back to the center. By serving in support and prayer groups, my focus began to shift from what happened to me to how my experiences could help others.
Now, I see the beauty in my low tide.
I understand the purpose of that pain.
My life is no longer about chasing the world’s rewards, but about using my story to bring hope to others. There is nothing more fulfilling than watching someone’s eyes light up—where once there was only darkness.
So, embrace your low tides. Learn from them. They happen for a reason. That reason is to serve and to share God’s love—especially with the poor, the broken, the hungry, the addicted, the forgotten, the imprisoned, the widowed, the orphaned, and everyone God places in your path.
The Apostle Paul said it beautifully in Philippians 3:12-14:
“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal,
but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me…
Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead,
I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”
And in Philippians 4:8, he adds:
“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true,
whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure,
whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—
if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”
Don’t cling to the past. Don’t live in quiet desperation, as Thoreau warned:
“Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”
There’s still a song in you.
Sing it.
Adios for now,
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