Today, for example, I was rhythmically treading away when my mind took me to the ocean shore. Do you folks ever remember walking along the water line, the place where the sand is dark and wet, cool and warm, at the same time? Many of you remember, don't you, what it was like to have your feet sink just a bit, leaving a perfect replica in that sand, perfect toes to heel, as you kept cadence with the waves and gulls. Hey! I can see you nodding your heads "yes"! And did you ever watch your feet, step after step, as you walked along the shore toward The Jetty? Where did your daydreams take you then, as you left your young footprints along the waters edge?
If you think back, perhaps to when you were a high school senior or there abouts, and were taking one of these quiet walks, did you think about whether or not there was Anyone out the who cared what you did with your life? Did you think about vocation, about self-donation, about purposeful and meaningful lives? And did you lift up your heart, elevated as it was by the sea and sky, gulls and pipers, shells and all manner of living things along the shore? Did you lift up your heart?
I've lived so long among those of us who avoid saying "God," I feel a bit sheepish dropping the name with you folks today. I've used "The Universe," and replaced "prayer" with "good thoughts" and "positive energy." An "intention" is still an "intention," though. So, I came as close as can be, just about the length and width of a young girl's final breath, to choosing secular humanism as a better fit for me. Just that close, though, and no closer. I know you understand.
And so, today, as I was rhythmically treading away, my mind kept taking me to the same short distance along the shore. I was in a memory loop: Same sand, same shells, same sea weed, same sea glass, same caw of gulls, same yowls of kids, same umbrellas, same muscle men, same bathing beauties, again, and again, and again. I thought to myself, maybe I should stop right here, imaginatively, and look out to the water. I stopped, turned, and you wouldn't believe what I beheld! I can hardly describe it. There, in the surf, were all the people who had ever held me up in the water. They were all there, in their own time, with the various stages of me in their arms. Yes, believe it! Let me tell you:
There was a young Aunt Stasia, glasses and hearing aid off, bathing cap on, holding a toddler me in her arms, jumping the waves! Yes, my sister Mickey had me, as did her husband Jerry, holding the hands of a curly-haired me, jumping the trickles of white foam at the shore-side of each broken wave: "One-two-three Up-see daisy!!" There was Daddy Bill, and Uncle Marty, ...even Uncle Bill. There was Joe-Joe and Bobby. Once, even, my mother was there...so beautiful, so put together. But I had her hand, rather than she, mine.
And who was there especially? Aunt Pat. She taught me the Great Paradox: When a wave is Very Big, don't run away toward shore, run toward the wave. Then, hold your breath and go under before it breaks. Do you believe that??? My first experience, other than potty training, of counter-intuitive behavior. And that's where I learned the Mystery of Faith, that very day.
Today, as I was rhythmically treading away, and I was transported, buoyant, into the arms of the people I loved most and miss so much. I remembered a time in the waves and sand when I felt so surely that I could lift up my heart to the One, greater than whom there is no other. I could bob in the midst of the ocean back then in the arms of the saints of my life, and believe. I could say then, "Here I am, Lord. I come to do your will." I could say, "Fiat voluntas tuas." It was safe, once upon a time, with Ocean as witness, in the presence of gulls and sky, sun, muscles, beauties, to say then,"Here I am. To say now? "Here I am." What's you're story?
