Lake Effect

Sirens streamed into our neighborhood a few nights ago.  Police, sheriff department, fire trucks, ambulances, dive teams - the whole works.  As rescue workers set up across the street, neighbors starting gathering.  Word spread quickly that a young child had gone into the lake. 

"The lake" happens to be Lake Michigan, a massive and beautiful body of water that brings me great joy most days.  Tonight, not so much.  Tonight our lake feels cold and teeming and dangerous.  Even though my four children are safely at my side I have a sick feeling.  It takes me back to another lake and another report of a lost child.

I was a college student with aspirations of chasing big stories as a writer and reporter.  That summer I was working at a local television station.  Eager Beaver's like me got sent out on all sorts of exciting stories - tornadoes, gas leaks, gang fights, car chases, traffic accidents.  This job was turning into a real downer.

I was ill-prepared for the emotional toll telling bad news would take on the messenger.  "Reporting live from the scene of a tragedy, Holly Paulson, Action News"  did not have the same thrilling ring as I had envisioned it would. 

This was already getting old by the time I was sent to a local lake where a child had been reported missing.  Rescue squads and crowds had gathered, including family and friends of the missing boy.  The mother was sobbing and screaming in anguish and her cries echoed over the lake.  I watched with weak knees as they methodically dragged the lake for the boy.  I wanted them to find him so I could get out of there and the family could go home and grieve in peace.  At the same time I was afraid that they would find him.  I didn't know if I could watch.  Shortly before dusk the dive team signaled that the boy had been recovered.  A quick call to the station for an update led to a shocking order, "Make sure you get close enough to the family to hear their reaction.  We'll lead with that audio."

"We" would lead with no such thing ever again because I had already decided this was the last time I'd be part of a story told like this.  I didn't want to hold a microphone to this mother, I wanted to hold her hand and assure her that even though it didn't feel like it now, by the grace of God, someday, somehow, she would be alright.

That day at the lake had a major effect on my life.  No more TV news for this storyteller.  All these years later, and gathered once again by a lake, I prayed that this would end differently.  Once was enough.  Fortunately, once was indeed enough.  False alarm.  What looked like a small boy in the lake was not.  The only thing pulled from the lake that night was a reminder that prayers are indeed answered.

Today, I'm happy to report on a story with a happy ending.  A story that would have been deemed, "not newsworthy" by most reporters.  Afterall, who wants to hear about a child who wasn't pulled from a lake?  Me.  That's who. 

These days, I'm not a reporter; just a mom who still likes to tell stories in her own way and on her own terms. 

"Reporting live, not from the scene of a tragedy but from real life, where we embrace good news and pray for the strength to handle bad news with grace and compassion, this is Holly Hess."