Lessons from the Beach II

The following comes from sitting on the beach watching two children playing (described in the last Brushstroke).

Lessons from the Beach II

“Till he appeared, and the soul felt its worth.” O Holy Night

The grandmother eventually returned to her seat and the brother and sister went on with their games in surf. Each time they came up on shore, though, they looked over at where the grandmother and their parents were sitting. It was as if they were waiting and hoping for something. Then, it happened. 

The Dad rose from his seat, grabbed a Boogie Board and came and played alongside his children. The squeals of delight when he stood and began to head their way were almost ear-splitting, and the young boy did something like an Irish Jig until he lost his balance and fell into the sea. The next few moments were pure heaven for the children, and it filled my soul with joy and anguish to watch. Most things of authentic beauty do that.

We all do such a good job appearing and sounding independent. We live life for so long with an “I’ve got this” mentality we almost fool ourselves into believing it. The fact is, deep down, each of us looks off in hopeful expectation that maybe, just maybe, we’ll be joined in the surf. We do it on Sundays sitting in our pew. We do it when we’re alone in the car, or on a walk. We do it countless other times, whenever we let our self-reliant guards down. 

In the end, I don’t think any of us wants to swim alone. We long for God’s presence and, while we may not squeal like a child or do an Irish Jig, our hearts delight whenever we feel God’s presence swimming beside us. 

May this be such a day.