It is November. The beach is desolate and still, with no one around, the waters shimmer as crystals in hues of the deepest and brightest blues you’ve ever seen. And no is around to see it. Except you.
There is a quote from a film that you and husband hold dear, “Beautiful things don’t ask for attention” (Walter Mitty). You speak it back and forth in your “three cheers for the underdogs!” sort of way. I see you, but does the world? We ask it of ourselves but not of the One we were born to illuminate.
Your soul starts to come alive; to whisper and to roar. Just the way the Good Lord intended, his own character exemplifying this very juxtaposition. Whisper. Roar. The soul comes alive little by little, the way your husband summons a smile after a long day in the only way he knows, kisses starting at the forehead, light and airy, moving down to the crest of where the shoulder meets arm. Eyes up, are you alive yet?
The soul meets the blue in ocean and sky and shrieks and runs, bare feet hitting sand yard and greets the blue and shouts YES I AM ALIVE.
Can I take this back with me to walk alongside the seashore on cold mornings when I wake up in defeat? Is this the truest example of what it means to walk with the Lord- simple, the blue of every possibility awakening courage. I hope so. And it would seem to fit the bill; the shore does extend forever in our view.
Your soul breathes the moments of salt in and out, in and out. You feel light which is a relief because the walls of a school building make you much tougher than you are. You carry the weight of the girls who choose your room with it’s starch white walls to sit inside during lunch instead of along tables of their friends. One, four, now eight; with the stories that you soak up and start to carry around as your own. You feel like your cheating them all because they deserve to have their stories carried, but not by you, too weak to properly hold them all.
You are big and you are little. You are too many roles to count. So you step-no walk-no run- along crystal blue waters and you see beauty that goes unseen. And it’s not a reminder of the self but a reminder for what you’ve been called to do. Walk, breathe, carry stories, love– be beautiful without asking for, without needing attention.
The greatest challenge of all is the one that the ocean meets with resilience- to shimmer and shake if not one small child wants to dance with me today.
You are going to be okay, ocean.
You are going to be okay, too.