What some call a necessity, others consider a luxury. Growing up in a big family, we often couldn't afford some luxuries my friends considered necessary.
Simple things, home remedies, often worked as well, or better, than their more expensive manufactured alternatives. But unfortunately, large marketing firms create an image of necessity for products such as toothpaste.
When I was a kid, times were different. We didn't have toothpaste. Instead, we had little Tupperware containers shaped like shot glasses. They were about twice the size and had a lid with the famous Tupperware Seal. These handy little containers came in very cool colors; yellow, blue, green, pink, orange, and white for the person with a limited desire for flair.
 We kept the Tupperware container in the bathroom medicine cabinet filled with baking soda. You would open the container; sprinkle a little soda into the palm of your hand, then press the bristles of your wetted toothbrush into the soda. You were now prepared to begin the daily dental cleansing process.
We brushed our teeth in the morning and again before going to bed. I didn't seem to have any more or fewer cavities than my friends, who enjoyed the luxury of "cavity-fighting – tooth whitening" toothpaste. If you wanted a whitening agent, you added a few drops of hydrogen peroxide to the soda.
 On occasion, when K-Mart offered a blue light special, Dad would come home with Pepsodent: a complete care toothpaste. But, of course, with toothpaste came responsibility and rules.
In the TV commercials, they would run a thick bead of paste from one end of the bristles to the other. The actor always put a wavy, sweeping hump in the toothpaste, leaving a curly tip - like a soft serve ice cream cone. Dad always said, "They do that to sell more toothpaste!" He insisted, "Just a dot; the size of a pea, that's all you need. The rest is just wasteful." But there were more rules than just the amount used.
"Don't let the tip of the tube touch your toothbrush bristles," Dad would say. That was equally gross to double dipping in the chip dip. There was a right and wrong way to dispense the product. You had to put pressure on the tube so that when you had your drop of toothpaste, there would be a slight vacuum action within the tube. Almost like inhaling, the toothpaste would recede slightly back inside the tube, leaving a nice clean tip for the next person – not a gunky mess. "If you can't replace the cap, don't use the toothpaste," Dad would warn.
Finally, we were required to squeeze from the flat end of the tube. As the toothpaste decreased in quantity, the tube would stay nice and neat, maintaining its sleek shape. Rolling up the foil tube as needed would also keep a nice-looking tube of toothpaste. Never, under any circumstances, was it acceptable to squeeze the middle of the tube. Never!
Squeezing the middle disturbed the natural shape and distribution of the product. It resulted in an untidy, unattractive tube of toothpaste. Lt also caused the wasted product to be trapped inside, which would lead to an investigation by Dad. ,
The violator, who dared to squeeze from the middle, would be sought out, caught, and punished. Then, losing all rights to the family tube of toothpaste, the convicted child would be banished from the toothpaste and sent back to using baking soda."
The older kids who had jobs found a way around Dad's rules; they bought their own toothpaste. Still, Dad would preach his rules to them, "You're just wasting your money when you waste toothpaste." 
If we ran out of toothpaste and K-mart didn't have a special, Dad would say, "There's nothing wrong with using baking soda."
"But Dad, all my friends have toothpaste," I argued.
"If all your friends jumped off the bridge, would you jump off, too," He asked. But then, he reassured me, "There's nothing wrong with using baking soda."
Dad felt his position on dental hygiene products was proven correct when the "New and Improved Crest – Now with Baking Soda and Peroxide" was introduced. Maybe Dad knew more than we gave him credit.
I thought about Dad and his rules on toothpaste while standing at the sink this morning. Dad always used to say, "You'll follow my rules if you're living under my roof. You can make your own rules when you get your own house." I was in my house now.
I picked up my toothbrush and laughed as I squeezed the middle of the tube. I spread a thick bead of paste from one end of the bristles to the other. Naturally, I included the little wavy, sweeping hump in the middle, leaving a curly tip - just like in the commercials.
As I began brushing my teeth, it occurred to me I had used way too much toothpaste. I spit the excess into the sink, thinking, "What an expensive waste!" I went to the bedroom to get dressed. Before I left the house, I returned to the bathroom.
Applying pressure between my thumb and the tip of my index finger, I smoothed the tube from the bottom up. I made several passes pushing the paste toward the top, returning the natural shape to the damaged center where I'd squeezed it. Then, I smoothed out all the wrinkles I could. "There. That looks better," I said.
After all, I did not want to be the violator who caused the launch of an investigation. Such an investigation could lead to my conviction. I could lose all rights to the family tube of toothpaste; I would return to using baking soda, and I don't even own any of those little Tupperware containers.

​The moon was not up yet, and the road was dark. I drove along highway 61, coming home from Duluth. The road runs parallel to the shore of Lake Superior. Broken yellow lines dashed by in my left peripheral vision as I drove along. I kept looking toward the dark waters of the lake. I was hoping to see a ship at night.
To avoid the stronger, seasonal winds, big iron ore and freight ships may travel closer to shore. Headwinds are not their friend; traveling closer to the shore allows the natural terrain to work as a wind block. So, there it was. The ship I was hoping to see.
Lights from the crew's sleeping rooms, the workrooms, and other areas glow at night. The bridge sits on top of the other rooms. The pilot house is lit up like a small town five or six stories tall. Lights line the deck from bow to stern marking the walkways looking like light strings of Christmas lights. Soon, I spotted another boat, and then a third.
During the one-hour drive between Duluth and Silver Bay, I saw five ships in all. The vessels travel quietly under a black sky littered with stars too numerous to count. It was truly a beautiful sight, one that could easily go unnoticed.
The boats could have been fifteen or twenty miles out at sea through most of the shipping season. A distance where most people would not see them because of the earth's curvature. But whether I see them or not, the ships are there, silently doing their work.
They are there moving tons and tons of iron ore. Ore will be turned into steel, eventually becoming products we use daily. Items generally taken for granted, never giving thought to the ship hands that labored to bring us the steal.
Most of us relate to a higher power in our own ways. So, I began to correlate the ships to my faith. There are times when my faith is close. It is easy to see, close enough to grasp when I need it. Yet, other times, I am guilty of taking for granted all the goodness that comes to me through my faith.
Sometimes I fail to give credit where credit is due. I foolishly believe the good I produce is from my own hands, of my own making. As a result, I find false satisfaction, thinking I am in control when there is always a greater power behind me. A force that guides me, steering the ship on which I am traveling.
It was good to see the ships tonight. They offered more than just a pleasing, tranquil sight; they gave me a much-needed nudge.   A reminder that I need to recognize the source of my blessing.   I need to acknowledge that my good deeds result from the guidance that comes from above. 
My evil deeds result from turning away from the word and the voice, thinking I can handle things on my own.
Jesus is my higher power, my source of strength. He is the light in my day. Even when I fail to see Him, he is still there protecting me. He is the ship that travels quietly on course through the night, whether I see it or not.
I am grateful for His presence in my life.   I am blessed to be shown the way and to have accepted Him. I wish I were always mindful of Him, but sometimes I fail. 
I love how He shows up in the most unexpected places when He needs to correct my course; set me straight. Times when He will touch my shoulder, saying, "Come this way. Follow me." He keeps me on the intended line where I am meant to be, and brings me back should the winds blow me off course.
Late fall is a fantastic time to drive the shoreline of Lake Superior. Seeing five ships in one night was not a coincidence. I look forward to seeing where I will find the vessel tomorrow. I pray that you, too, will see the beauty of a ship when it is close by and know in your heart that it is there even when you cannot see it.
Peace, my friend. May the wind always be at your back. I wish you smooth sailing today in calm waters.