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“Watch me run!”
She jumped off the driftwood log, her sneakers landing with a crunch. Then she took off running down the beach, hair ribbons flying behind. What a joy to have this one-on-one time, my daughter all to myself for a few hours. I shaded my eyes against the slant of afternoon sun across the water. I saw her there bent over like a crab at the shore’s edge where gentle waves lapped at her feet.
“Look what I found!” she announced as I approached. “It’s shiny and black.” Her upturned face brimmed with joy at the stone in her hand.
“It’s beautiful,” I agreed, and she deposited the treasure in the pocket of her corduroy jacket.
“Hey, this one is flat like a baby pancake with a bite out of it,” she laughed. Again, her eye was drawn downward by the glint underfoot. A fist-sized rock speckled with silver became her next trophy. As we continued, she diligently added to her collection: shells and pieces of shells, colorful bits of worn glass, and stones of every color and shape.
We ran out of beach where the shoreline became an outcropping of rocks. On one flat surface, she emptied her pockets, fistful by fistful, and spread out her stash. Together we pored through the assortment of stones examining the patterns and fingering their smoothness. She held a piece of soft green glass up to the light.
“Look! The light shines through this one like the windows at church!”
I explained that it was actually glass, not stone, but the waves had tumbled it around so much it was no longer sharp. She turned it over in her hands and looked for other bits of glass in her collection.
“Is that why the rocks aren’t pointy either?’
“Yes,” I said. “Some are smoother than others. It takes the ocean a long time to wear the rocks and glass smooth.”
“The ocean is turning them into jewelry!” Her face lit up with delight.
Eventually we turned to head back. Her pockets bulged, the front of her jacket hung low, banging into her knees as we walked.
“How far is it to the car?” she asked, stopping abruptly. I pointed to the parking area in the distance.
She turned to face the ocean. “I don’t think God is through making jewelry from these.”
She threw a fistful of pebbles into the surf. Plunging into her pockets, she removed handfuls of stones and threw them high into the air, laughing. Her pockets now empty, she took off.
“Watch me run!” She raced ahead of me, arms outstretched and hair flying, unencumbered and free. I, too, began to run, caught up to her, and scooped her into my arms, both of us laughing. Together we raced the length of the beach.
The memory of that October day still warms me. Many autumns later, that little girl now has children of her own and is still an inveterate beachcomber. I smile each time I recall that vision of her running, gathering stones, and throwing stones. A memory of precious mother-daughter time, it also helps me make sense of a phrase used by Thomas Merton. He speaks of judging others as a burden.
On my journey I have gathered many stones. Some are small. Distracted by the shortcomings of others, I form an opinion and tuck it away for future reference. Some are weighty, difficult but undeniable problems that are not really mine to solve, but I save them anyway as if they were. Others have somehow become favorites of mine. I take them out every so often, just to reinforce that they are there, give them a good polish, and then put them back. With each judgement, however slight, I add to my burden, growing gradually more encumbered.
Judgement is not mine. Scripture is pretty clear to point that out, yet I continue as if it were. Nor are the worries that clutter my mind mine to solve; better to be left in God’s hands. The weight accrued, a pebble at a time, has burdened me so that I do not realize how far behind the Master I have fallen.
Might I learn from my little girl with a pocket full of stones? I remember the burden she so gradually collected, then so joyfully released.
Can I, too, simply give back to God the things that are God’s? Perhaps, as she said so long ago, God is not finished with them yet. The verdicts I have cherished, the worries I’ve tried to wear smooth on my own—what if they were thrown back into the ocean, given over to God’s hands where they belong? Only then can they be polished into the precious gems God intends for them to be. And, I think further, what if God is not yet finished with me? What if I released it all to God’s care and turned homeward with empty pockets? Maybe then, I could run the good race into God’s embrace.
Summer Enrichment...
"One of the great joys of summer is the leisure to explore learning."
What great topics to choose from. A fresh take on the times in which we are living, courtesy of Krista Tippett. And a new, cosmic understanding of our place in time as we walk through geological history with Stephan Harding.
Perhaps best of all, at least for me, is the opportunity to see and interact with others in this Scribbles community. I always find the conversations inspiring and thought-provoking and know you will too.
JULY
"Foundations for Being Alive Now" with Krista Tippett
Tuesday Afternoon, July 9th
OR
Thursday Evening, July 11th
AUGUST
"Deep Time Walk" with Dr. Stephan Harding
Tuesday Afternoon, August 6th
OR
Thursday Evening, August 8th
Spotlight on Betsey...
Betsey Beckman and I share some marvelous memories of ministry. While we've not had the opportunity to partner in person for awhile, I still follow her ministry, Dancing Word, with intense interest, as do some of you.
A few weeks ago on Trinity Sunday, Betsey was asked to give expression to the lesson as developed by Deacon Steve Wodznowski, another dear friend of mine. Steve's sermon drew from the 4th century Cappadocian Fathers who likened the Trinity to a circle dance, "Whatever is going on in God is a flow, a radical relatedness, a perfect communion between Three – a circle dance of love. And God is not just a dancer. God is the dance itself."
To see some profound theology brought to beautiful life, click on this link and enjoy! The Dancing Trinity.
Responses from Readers...
Thank you, dear friend, for this simple lesson from the Shakers. I am preparing for the memorial service of one of the saints in my current congregation of St. Andrew's United Methodist Church. I only knew Joe W for a year, and barely that, but his joie de vivre, even through his battle with cancer, was infectious. Up to a week before he died, he was plotting new work at the church with me. If ever there was a man of whom it could be said, "He did all God had for him to do," it was Joe. I plan on referencing this story in his eulogy. - Rev. Chris
Your story of the Shakers brings tears to my eyes! I too was friends with Ward. What a beautiful soulful connection. Also, I teach one of the original Shaker dances to Gift to be Simple." - Betsey
Are not we the lucky ones to have known him. Maybe we can work that dance into one of our presentations some time! - Kathleen
I really enjoyed your experiences with the Shakers. It reminded me of a place that we visited many years ago either in upstate NY or Mass. When my in-laws lived in Mass near the Berkshires. It was I think, Hancock Shaker Village and we loved it and visited it often. Loved the simplicity of what they made and how they lived. I have two art pieces I bought and framed hanging in my entry hall. - Libby
Yes, I've been to Hancock Shaker Village also where there's an amazing round barn, a visual testimony to Shaker creativity and craftsmanship. I went in the company of two sisters and their husbands, and mine (see below) - Kathleen
As usual your beautiful way with words is impressive. And of course the reference to visiting a Shaker village made me think of our visit to the one in Massachusetts with you, Brian, Jean and John when we made that trip a few years ago. - Terry
I enjoyed your toes in the Kentucky grass description and the Shaker story. Miss you! Love, Rita (another sister)
"Not if you've done everything God has asked you to do." Very interesting. The Shakers have always fascinated me since first learning about them probably all the way back to elementary school. The philosophy of their group was very fascinating to a youngster trying to figure out life - still trying. That quote will be very much ingrained in my thoughts each day. - Glenda
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