The waves crash onto the shore as I walk on the beach not long after the sun has decided to grace us, again, with her majesty.
I don’t get too far before I see litter-—a few empty plastic bottles, a beaten up cooler, some remnants of a late-night party; all carelessly left by humans.
They’re not unlike the fragments of our former selves that are littered across the landscape of our pasts —not yet worn down like the rocks that became the sands of time; not yet pulverized enough that we can let them slip through our fingers. The fragments that we hang on, and cling to are the memories, ideals, and dreams that were shattered by the reality of life.
They lie, sometimes glistening in the sun, calling to you; reminders of a past that was “less-than”; a past that stirred, inside you, the turmoil you carry with you today in spite of your soul’s desire to be a harmonious unit—aching to feel complete; wanting your arms to wrap around all the pieces of you, and then (and this is important) make peace with them.
As I walk, I have to be thoughtful about what I pick up. There are so many beautiful treasures on the nearly-empty beach. I choose carefully, picking up small pieces that I can slip in my pocket; holding them in my hand before deciding to carry them with me. After all, it’s not really the “big things” is it? It’s usually all the tiny ones, layered upon each other, that matter. The same is, often, true in the rest of life.
Sometimes, in the vastness of this space I’m acutely aware of what I’m not—of what I’ll never be and, sometimes, in the vastness of this space, I’m aware of all that I am.
I think about all of the footprints that have come before me; all washed away just as mine have been—footprints that belonged to the very little and footprints that belonged to those much older; footprints that walk this beach each day and footprints that are touching sand for the first time. There is no “pecking order” with this water; to her, we are all the same—journeyers just passing through.
Many people will never get to stand at the ocean to hear her song and see her grandeur. Some will take it for granted because it’s always been the soundtrack playing in their background. And, most of us will stand in awe at her power, grandeur, and splendor, and hear God in that song.
May your week be one of intentional living—of recognizing your value, of living into your highest self, and of walking with peace no matter where your days take you. You deserve all of that.