Toes in the Sand

Only a few short weeks ago I was walking on the beach.

It was the last night of a fun, family vacation and it was my oldest’s 8th birthday. Earlier in the day, under an overcast sky I had enjoyed a breezy, laughter-filled walk down the same beach as I watched my children chase waves and discover a colorful array of broken sea shells. There were – as always – a thousand questions concerning various things they noticed as we walked along. With children no topic is sacred or taboo. This leads to several interesting and frequently odd discussions.

Nevertheless, the walk was light-hearted and clearly the shaping of a wonderful memory that concluded with them screaming with glee as their daddy chased them through the sand.

The beach has always been a special place to me and my family. Even as a child I can recall lovely memories with my parents playing in the sun, learning to swim, and attempting to build sand castles all as a result (I now know) of their saving and working extra hours to create that memory with me. So, naturally most of my sentiment toward beach walks are relaxed, easy and fun. This walk on the last night of our vacation, though, was quite different.

There had been a gentle gnawing at my heart that whole last day as a result of one glimpse followed by a few innocent questions.

“Mommy, why is that bike covered in a garbage bag?”

“Oh! Can we talk to them?!”

“What do you mean they are sleeping? Where is their bed?”

“No home? That’s sad.”

I try very hard not to shy away from the hard and even awkward questions my children often pose – one sweet little, hazel-eyed 6-year-old in particular has a knack for “inappropriate” questions asked a little too loud and at the most inopportune times (we’re working on tact, but to be honest I’m completely aware that she comes by it honestly - mostly because she’s mine). The truth is, life is full of hard, awkward moments and I’m learning they often offer the most growth if approached in love and truth.

This conversation was filled with explanations like, “we don’t know what others have been through” and “no matter where someone lives, how they look or what they do or don’t have we love them because they are made by God, in his image just like us” and so on. We continued our walk and their attention was quickly captured by the next topic of interrogation (errr…I mean child-like exploration).

Yet, “that’s sad” sunk deep into my heart and simply settled in the corner of the day; not quite out of sight, but not blocking the view either. I silently commented, “If there’s a way that I can let them know you love them, just show me,” and as we went about the day a gentle nudge to share what we enjoy grew.

That nudge graduated to a different kind of walk on the beach. Instead of being surrounded by sunshine and laughter, it was nearly dark and storm clouds were quickly approaching. The occasional display of distant lightning shone over the ocean and the breeze was cool with the approaching rain. My calves ached from several days of trudging through sand with children and/or beach paraphernalia and my bare feet were reminding me once again that I am not a teenager any longer. In my hand I held a makeshift to-go plate with overly warmed food in the hopes that it would still be warm once it arrived at my destination. The kicker was, due to the curvature of the shore in addition to the nearing darkness and the distance from our room I was not even sure my “destination” was still there. But, a Voice I’ve learned to trust told me to go. So, I walked with purpose and blind trust for roughly 10 minutes until I caught a glimpse and shortly thereafter had the pleasure of meeting Thomas. So many things could be said about that brief, deeply-heartfelt conversation. There was a backstory filled with pain and mistakes. There was joy, encouragement and gratitude. There were obvious needs that I could not meet. Yet, in obediently doing what I could, there were other needs fully addressed in that moment for him and – as I am learning more each day – for me as well.

Hard moments can feel like walking blindly through storm-filled skies on less-than comfortable footing. Maybe you know the uncertainty and discomfort of having your toes in sand you would not have chosen on your own.

May this be a reminder that there can be joy and purpose in the struggle.

 I don’t know where Thomas weathered the storm – he wasn’t on the beach the next morning. I do know I missed the kids’ “glow-stick party” that took place during the 30 or so minutes I was gone which would have been great fun I’m sure. Yet, in a very practical way I was privileged to show obedience, encouragement, faith and service to the giggling partyers and someone who needed a touch of Love more in that moment. My walk back was lighter, easier and marvel-filled as I took in the truth that the Orchestrator of that encounter was the Composer of life with its high notes, low notes, major and minor chords all mixed in with our cringe-worthy missed notes and chill-inducing harmonious moments.

You may be experiencing a far more challenging walk than a meal carried on a beach, but the lessons hold true. Beauty, purpose and joy can be found alongside the pain and struggle. Since, “we don’t know what others have been through,” let us trust the One who does and chose to meet the need we can while also accepting the help we need.

written by Kelli Keller