It was just about a year ago when I first discovered that the beach was more than a place to occasionally eat chips with Kaity and body surf.
It was my place… for exercise, contemplation, escape and often, communion with God.
So much has changed in a year, again.
After summertime in a tourist town (I heard a fellow theatre GM call it the ‘100 Days War’), I remembered that I work pretty much in walking distance of the beach, and I had neglected my friend all summer long. So today, finally, I returned… just me, my music, and my prayers.
It’s a different stretch of beach ~
~ just as beautiful, perhaps a little less pretentious. It does not apologize for its lack of high rises or the presence of pastel houses:
I can’t imagine getting lost on this one, because the pier is there and I know this particular beach better than the one I stumbled on last year.
The metaphor is not lost on me. We need landmarks and anchors in our lives, and we need to know stuff. After this past year, I certainly know myself better. And I know God better, too.
I know I don’t want to walk alone, ever.
And I know I will never have to.
I like how I feel here… cooled by the water, lightened by the sun, soothed by the sounds of waves against my own soundtrack, close to and amazed by creation.
We were surprised by a visit from sweet friends last weekend – our original Carolina Next of Kin, and in passing, Bobby told me that whenever they sing one of their songs, Sharona talks about me.
The song is beautiful, touching, difference-making: it’s called, “Just Wait.” And during those walks on the beach just earlier this past year, it was one I would listen to over and over again, trying to grasp that God’s promise is true:
“Though you may not know the future, what He has in store,
He’ll satisfy the longing that there must be something more.”
It seems like my whole life until this point has been about waiting for some next thing to happen. It dawned on me this past week that I’m not waiting for anything. Rather, I’m living. I don’t think that is complacency. I think it just means I have exhaled.
And I find myself in a pretty good place.