At Water's Edge

It took me almost 43 years to realize that there is something special about sitting on the beach where the water meets the sand. I realized it fully last week, and I’m so grateful for the time that I had to sit and think and pray…at water’s edge.

i.
At the water’s edge
Feet in soft sand, gently cooling
Safely here at rest

ii.
At the water’s edge
Waves crashing, not consuming
Peace washes o’er me.

iii.
It was raining.
I walked down anyway.
I planted my chair in the sand
Alone.
I sat
At water’s edge.
I waited.
I waited some more.
And then the sun peaked through
Grey clouds
And bathed me in
Warm, orange light.
I smiled.
Even as the rain returned
I smiled.
And sat
Content
At water’s edge.

What is something that you’ve realized recently? What is an experience you are grateful to have had? Please share. I’d love to hear.

Monday At The Beach

Waves crashing
Steady
Wind blowing
Invisible
People laughing
Happy
And still there is silence
Present

Beach Angel

Sunday morning, on a rare morning off from church, I went to the beach to take in the sights, sounds, and smells of the ocean.

As I crossed the sand dunes and stepped foot onto the beach, I said aloud, “I would like to find a piece of sea glass. I am speaking these words into creation.”

I walked for awhile—very slowly—listening to the waves crash and the seagulls sing—looking carefully for that piece of class.

I marveled at how beautiful the shells were—how different they were from the shells in Jacksonville—how each shell was unique—how some shells were quite ordinary on their tops but how they displayed intricate, extra-ordinary designs on their backs.

I sang the lyrics to a love song over and over in my head. “You matter to me,” I sang. And I looked out over the water and directed all of that love to the Creator of it all.

I thought of the previous Sunday’s worship service—of the children adorning the altar with flowers and birds and of their innocent voices reading:

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet our heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

“And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.

If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you?

“Therefore, do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ Or ‘What shall we drink?’
Or ‘What shall we wear?’ For your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.

“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well.”

And while pondering this scripture and stopping to look at a particularly lovely shell and being truly wrapped up in the worship of it all, the strangest thing happened:

Without missing a stride, a young man walking with his girlfriend approached where I was standing from the opposite direction, bent down and picked something up, handed it to me, said, “This is in your jurisdiction,” and kept right on walking.

I stood with my mouth open in awe, staring at the piece of sea glass in my hand, completely at a loss for words, thinking only one thought: “Did that really just happen?”

Yes, friends. Yes it did. A beach angel in an orange jacket placed into my hands the very thing that I had desired.

After picking up my jaw up off the sand, I had the frame of mind to take a picture of my beach angel. Part of me thought he might be gone when I turned around, but he was still there, walking with his girlfriend, completely oblivious to what he had just done.

Then I continued my walk, amazed and overwhelmed with gratitude—embracing those words of scripture—singing that love song—marveling at nature’s beauty—directing my love and thanksgiving to the Creator of it all.

On The Third Day of Christmas

“JG, why are you still playing Christmas music?” Amelia the 2nd Grade Niece inquired yesterday. “Christmas is over.”

“Actually, Amelia, Christmas is not over. In the church calendar, Christmas actually starts on Christmas day and lasts for the twelve days after Christmas until January 6th when we mark the wise men coming to visit Jesus…although the wise men probably didn’t visit Jesus until he was two-years-old and he probably wasn’t in a stable…but still…we remember their coming on January 6th—Epiphany—and that’s the end of Christmas. It’s twelve days of Christmas. That’s where the song comes from.”

“Oh! I get it now!...I can actually sing the whole Twelve Days of Christmas in the right order…I should learn how to play it on the piano…” Amelia continued happily talking. And when we arrived at my aunt’s house, she did just that. She sat down and figured out how to play the entire song on the piano—silently singing it in her head—leaving the rest of the family to hear only the repetition of notes, wonder what day she was on, and hope that she would quickly arrive at five golden rings since she’d be on the homestretch from there.

Amelia is such a delightful child.

I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve her affection, but I currently hold it and will not complain.

When she arrived in Florida yesterday, Amelia hugged me and stuck by my side as if she hadn’t seen me for weeks. We spent Christmas Eve together.

When I got back to G-mama’s house after going to see Star Wars this morning, Amelia ran into my room and hugged me as if she hadn’t seen me for weeks. We spent a good bit of time together yesterday.

When we went to walk on the beach with the family today, Amelia stayed by my side, held my hand, made up songs with me, and talked with me as if we hadn’t seen each other for weeks. We had lunch together today.

If I’m honest, then I will admit that I wasn’t overly excited about going to the beach today because I wanted to take a solid nap in the World’s Most Comfortable Bed. Yet I knew something to be true:

If I didn’t go to the beach with my sister’s family, then Amelia would be sad. And it won’t always be that way. Amelia won’t always think that Aunt Dee with her super hairy legs is super cool. Instead of sitting on the couch snuggling with me while absentmindedly playing with the leg hair that hasn’t been shaved or waxed since August, Amelia will one day want to play on her phone or spend time with the friends that she thinks are the greatest people in the world.

So I went to the beach.
And neither Amelia nor I were sad.
And when we came back to G-mama’s house, Amelia played the twelve days of Christmas on the pump organ that used to belong to my great-grandmother.
And I watched as a beautiful little soul celebrated the third day of Christmas surrounded by a family who adores her.
And I thought about Jesus once being a child like her—full of energy and life—not seeing outward appearances but looking straight into eyes and hearts of love.
And I smiled.

Defining Moments: To Shave Or Not To Shave

I remember shaving my left forearm when I was in elementary school. I don’t know what inspired me to do this. I suppose I was curious as to the function of the razor. So I shaved my left forearm. Thankfully the hair grew back normally.

I do not, however, remember first shaving my legs. I don’t know what inspired me to do this either. I suppose I was following peer pressure. So I shaved my legs. And my leg hair has never been the same.

Not trying to gross anyone out, but, thanks to my dad, I have man legs.

One summer at camp, a friend dared me not to shave my legs for the summer. I took the dare. As I entered the movie theatre one weekend afternoon, the ticket-taker tore my ticket stub, looking down as he did, and said, “To the left, sir.” Then he looked up and realized I was a woman and was mortified. I laughed. I have man legs.

I also have terrible vision. When in the shower, I cannot see my legs well enough to accurately shave them. So I need to shave in the bathtub. Then, more often than not, I get razor burn. So I prefer to shave with an electric razor. Then, sometimes I still get razor burn.

Shaving is a pain. Literally. And it takes up time that I could use for something else—like sleeping. So all in all, shaving is not a priority for me. Is it any wonder, then, that shaving is an activity that I often skip?

[Point of clarification: I’m talking about my shaving my legs. A Garbage Pail kid that I had as a kid instilled in me an aversion to stinky arm-pit hair.]

Back up to late last December…I hadn’t shaved for quite sometime, yet my family was preparing to go on a cruise and my parents had requested that my leg hair be gone for the trip. It was a reasonable request. My legs do look much better shaven, and I’ve taken reasonable shaving requests before. I actually took a request to shave that summer I took the dare, and I shaved my legs for my birthday. It was my birthday present to everyone else!

But when I got into the bathtub on December 29, 2013, I had a full meltdown. I imagine it sounds ridiculous—especially since I actually like how clean shaven legs look and feel—but I was sobbing real tears of anguish at the thought of shaving my legs.

I sent a text to a friend that said:

If a woman doesn’t shave then she is thought disgusting. In general. I know people who are horrified if I don’t shave. Like something is wrong with me. But there’s no reason for shaving other than it’s what is expected for females in America. To me, it just takes time and resources that produce trash that fills up our landfills. And yet. I feel like I must fit the societal norm. Like if I don’t shave my legs then my family and friends will be ashamed to be around me in shorts. Most people don’t mind shaving. I get that. And I suppose that shaving isn’t a huge deal for them. It’s an extension of their shower. But I can’t shave in the shower because I’m that blind. So it takes effort. And I’d really rather do other things. Yet. I let outside forces control my actions.

I sat in the bathtub for around thirty minutes that night. I cried. I prayed. I thought. I wrote. And I got out of the tub with legs as hairy as they were when I got in. I was tired of letting outside forces control me.

I shaved on New Year’s Eve, willingly, as a symbol of getting rid of the old and welcoming the new…

On Friday afternoon, I came home from school to pack for an overnight retreat with some of the girls from my church. I was weary from a long week, so I reclined on the couch to take a little nap after changing clothes and packing. It was at that moment that I realized that I was going to the beach with unshaven legs. I thought, “Uh oh. Some of the girls may think I’m gross. I guess I should shave. But if I shave then I won’t get to nap. And I’m sleepy. And I’m going to be driving a lot this weekend. Oh well, hairy legs. You’re staying hairy. I’m taking a nap.”

The focus of the girls’ retreat was being yourself. The girls talked about the importance of knowing who God had created and was creating them to be and living into that creation instead of the creation of the world. There I was, walking around with hairy legs and shorts, personally not caring that my legs weren’t shaven, but feeling self-conscious that the girls were thinking poorly of me.

And so…I asked if I could share a testimony and told my bathtub story and declared that, sometimes, when life gets really busy and someone dies and work demands so much, we have to make choices and set priorities and that, for me, shaving is nowhere near the top of my priority list. And that’s okay.

I think the girls understood. They even asked why we shave our legs in the first place. I smiled. Then I took my hairy legs down to the dock, listened to the sound of waves and water, and silently thanked God for creating and loving me for me...hairy legs and all.

Theology At The Beach

After my sister’s family went inside today, I stayed on the beach for awhile. I sat in my sister’s chair. I listened to the waves crash. I watched families pack their belongings and head home for the night. And I realized that over the past few days, each of my nephews and niece has provided me with at least one moment of theological reflection. Some of those moments moved me to tears.

Charlie’s joy is contagious. He and his dad spent at least an hour looking for seashells yesterday. Amongst other things, they found numerous sand dollar pieces. Charlie was thrilled. Until yesterday, according to Charlie, he didn’t know what a sand dollar was nor had he ever found one. After yesterday, though, he knew that sand dollars were really flat sea urchins and he’d seen one burrow into the sand. Charlie absolutely loves animals. His family went to the aquarium before arriving at the beach house and he took lots of pictures with his iPod. With true excitement, he showed his pictures to everyone who asked. Charlie knows God created this world and that we should honor, celebrate, and take care of it. Charlie would love to be a zoologist or marine biologist when he grows up. I wholeheartedly support that career aspiration.

Griffin adores his cousins. He and his sister get along well and enjoy each other’s company. But Griffin becomes a different person around his cousins because he loves them so much. Griffin does not like the beach. He doesn’t like being wet and he doesn’t like being dirty, yet he enthusiastically went down to the beach each day so that he could spend time with his cousins. Griffin helped dig huge sand forts, waited patiently until the tide came in to fill the fort, and ventured into the ocean because Jack asked him to. For better or for worse, Griffin is a follower. Even if he’s hesitant or afraid, he will follow his cousins if they ask. As soon as the boys left today, Griffin gave up on the beach. He said, “I don’t like the beach without Jack, Henry, and Charlie.” His statement confirmed what I’ve known all along.

Henry is a hug in human form. He is loving, warm, attentive, and comforting (through his sense of humor), and he makes you feel better just being around him. On Sunday morning, as I was waking up, I heard the kids talking and laughing. Then, in the middle of their pure silliness, I heard Henry say, “Guys! It’s Sunday! We need to sing some hymns!” At that point he started singing the Hallelujah Chorus, led the kids outside, and evidently helped conduct a worship service led by Jack. Jack’s sermon was something like this: “God created everything. And God is everywhere. Amen.” Henry remembered it was the Sabbath and desired to have a moment of worship. How serious the worship was, I don’t know. But I have to believe that God was smiling as five young children sat on a bench at the beach, pretending to be at church, and sang the Hallelujah Chorus as their hymn of choice. Hallelujah indeed.

Amelia sparkles. Her smile radiates happiness and her singing and whistling reflect the same. Amelia likes for everyone to get along and she likes to speak aloud that everything is okay. It’s okay that the flip-flops she’s wearing are black and gray even though her favorite colors are pink and purple, and it’s okay that her swim shirt is a little too small because it still covers her burned shoulders. It’s also okay when a wave hits her in the face and gets water in her hair and eyes. As long as she’s able to stand back up, breathe, and face another wave, that’s what matters. What isn’t okay, though, is for people to be dirty. Amelia demonstrated this beautifully on Saturday afternoon. As my brother played in the sand with the boys, Amelia made it her job to gather water in her bucket. As she was trying to figure out what to do with the water, she said, “I know. I’ll wash Uncle Daniel’s feet.” And she did. She poured a bucket of water on Daniel’s left foot and he cleaned it right off. Then she got another bucket of water and cleaned his right foot. And then she kept going until she’d washed all of the boys, and my, feet. Amelia doesn’t know the significance of washing people’s feet. Yet she humbly and willing set about the futile task of washing feet at the beach. I will never again think of foot washing in the same way.

Jack has no idea how much he means to me, nor does he have a clue that his posture on Saturday spoke to my heart. After battling the ocean with Hen and me and digging in the sand with his dad and the other kids, Jack sat down beside me in order to catch his breath. As we talked, I noticed that he was sitting with his hands on his knees, palms up, in a receiving position. When he asked me a question and looked to me for the answer, I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that I’ve had the opportunity to love this boy for eleven years. For better or worse, my boys and girl receive from me, and I can only pray that what they receive is the beauty of God’s love.

Waves And Light And Peace

Up at 6am, out of the house by 6:30am, I drove two hours for church yesterday morning. I spoke for 10 minutes during the early service and sang, “We’ve Got Miles To Go.” I went to Sunday school and thought about purpose and vision. I did the children’s sermon during the 11:00 service and sang “A Follower’s Prayer.” I heard the same sermon twice—a sermon about Isaac and his humanity and God’s faithfulness. I drove two hours home, stopping to fill GiGi The White Ant with gas and Harry My Belly with food. I packed GiGi’s trunk and back seat, lay down on the couch for ten minutes while reading with my ears, and then left home again to pick up Cindy so that we could go to staff retreat.

We stopped by our offices to get planning materials, road down a long road for a long time, had serious and silly conversations, got coffee at Starbucks, and ate supper at Shoneys. We arrived at our hotel around 7:30pm. We overloaded the luggage cart, found our room, unloaded our luggage cart, returned our luggage cart, moved GiGi to a legal parking place, and then sat with Donna, Laurie, and Sandra for a little while before going to walk on the beach.

We walked for a little over an hour. We walked toward the bright lights of the Myrtle Beach Skywheel as if they were a beacon guiding us safely through a dark night. We stopped under the wheel, marveled at its height, and then walked away from it until another night. We came back to the room, got ready for bed, and then I finished the 20th hour of the book that I had been reading since Thursday. I started a 27-hour book today.

Today, too, we’ve talked and thought and worked and planned and in a few moments I will leave the tranquility of the porch on which I'm writing to go inside and cook dinner.

There’s something to the consistency of the waves. There’s something to their movement, to their ebbing and flowing and constant change.

And there was something to the brightness of the lights against last night’s dark sky. There was something beautiful and compelling that made me want to be with the light.

And I think there’s something to Jesus, too. I think there’s something to the ever opening presence of his life and words and something to the light of love that belief offers. There’s something to the peace that he offers in the midst of speaking and sitting and listening and reading and questioning and traveling and eating and drinking. There’s something to the beauty of creation that he, the Word, created—that he, the Word, is creating—and right now, in this moment, as rain begins to fall, I confess that I am humbly overwhelmed by this something of waves and light and peace.