So I Made It To The Beach

...as promised in a previous post.

And it was so worth it.  Worth the 45 minutes in LA traffic.  Worth the Saturday.  Worth the little edging fear that always arises before I go somewhere to retreat alone for a time.  My soul often squirms a little; as much as I claim to ache for quiet and solitude, it takes me a while to adjust to it.  And I almost always fear alone time, before I remember again how much I love it.  Anyway, it was worth it.  All worth it.

I read.  I watched two very patient and loving dads play volleyball with their two young daughters.  I thought about the kindness of God, my Father, always rooting for me, always teaching me, always cheering me on.  I set some goals.  And I wrote.  I wrote out a prayer, actually.  Or maybe it's a poem, after staring at this for a long, long time (my recommendation? click on the photo to make it bigger in order to get the full grandiosity of the view):

And though it feels vulnerable, I'd like to share it.  I suppose the only preface I can offer for it is this: the older I get, the less I like neat, clean, pretty ideas that fit into a precise package, topped with a bow, (because that doesn't honestly feel very congruent with this imperfect, broken, but precious world) and the more I appreciate just being able to ask questions and trust in a good God, even when I don't get all the answers.

My Offering

Is it enough, Lord?  That I delight

in the beauty wrought of Your fingertips,

of the intentions of Your heart? Can it be faith - 

pleasing to You - that the way

late afternoon sun turns the air golden - a whisper -

and the crashing waves, the surges of water

toward my bare feet, washing over them

and then retreating

causes me to worship You?  Even though 

the ocean is an unkind world to plankton 

and other small sea creatures

who didn't choose their place at the bottom 

of the food chain?

Can it be enough, Father?  That I hang on

to hope - sometimes by fingertips -

and watch seagulls spread their wings and glide upon invisible cradles of air, 

and that I love 

You....

with feeble,

fickle

love - as the Author of this enchanting, but unjust world?

That I could stand and watch the dance

of colliding waves -

water, flung up

recklessly, in every direction-

for hours?

That I wish I were a wave, could come crashing down,

without thought of where I'd land,

that I wish I could collide with something - anything -

and go hurtling upwards,

outwards,

outside of myself, if only to feel

that I am alive.

Can this desire?

This honesty? This reaching out....

be a prayer, 

falling softly

upon a tender spot

in Your heart?

CB 1-22-11