I’m not terribly choosy when it comes to making escapes from the real world. I’m equally comfortable and content in the mountains or on the beach.
Today was a beach day, our first this trip. Our previous beach escape, a beautiful resort listed on the National Register of Historic Places, priced itself out of our market. Add to that, my mother-in-law is our guest, so we rented a house near but not on the beach.
My mother-in-law doesn’t remember the trip we made to St. Simons Island in the time before my father-in-law slipped the veil to touch the face of God. Same place, same restaurants, same boutiques as before, she remembers nothing. Time is taking her long-term memory in chunks. Her short-term memory too. Today, though, she said, ”This is a trip of a lifetime for me.” I pray the memories stick around for a little while.
The beach, East Beach on St. Simons, is quiet today. No multitudes of people tent-on-tent, blaring radios over five different satellite radio stations, flying flags for their favorite football team or former White House occupant.
A toddler chases a seagull with a butterfly net.
A pony-sized Great Dane named Baxter galumphs across the beach followed by his emotional support dog and the people he owns.
A flock of seagulls lines up along the shore facing the water with anticipation that their fish had come in.
A cargo ship heads out from the Port of Brunswick, doing its part to solve supply chain issues.
Near us, a small wooden cross stands guard in the sand, an artifact of the Easter Sunrise Service held where we planted our chairs. Written on the crossbar: “Matthew 28:6.”
“He is not here; he is risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay.”
East Beach seems the perfect place for a Sunrise Service, surrounded by natural wonders as the sun becomes visible on the horizon, rising over the ocean coloring the sky in glory.
Easter Sunrise Service at my church, St. John’s Lutheran Church, begins across the street in Old Gray Cemetery, a reminder that we are an Easter people who will rise again in newness of life when our time comes to cross over.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply of the salt air. I shut out the few voices I hear around me. I hear the wind gust and the ocean roar. My feet caressed by warm sand as the sun warms my body clad only in swim trunks, a bucket hat and sunscreen.
I am one with the elements: earth, wind, air, fire. No mobile device, no clock, no schedule. Peace and contentment.
I think of my friend Scott Blue, who lives in New Mexico with his wife and children. While in grad school together one of our class projects involved producing Elements, a four-page Earth Day special edition newspaper with stories about conservation related to the four elements.
Tomorrow is Earth Day.
Earth. Wind. Air. Fire.
“He is not here.”
I feel the heat on my skin, the wind on my face. I stretch out to accept it all, breathing in and then out the salt air.
Eucharisteo.
Sarah spies what appears to be a swan on the water between the beach where we’re sitting and the spit of sand that rises out of the water during low tide. She wants a closer look so we hold hands and go investigate. It is indeed a swan. i snap a photo and shoot it to my friend Stan Wilkerson, a real-life biologist and all-around great friend.
He confirms the identity of the bird but is befuddled about it floating on salt water. Dr. Google reports that while swans are generally found on freshwater they posses a gland that filters salt water.
Phone back in the side pocket of my chair. My eyes closed. One with the elements. Surrounded by gifts, including the lovely Sarah and her mother, Ruth.
I don’t want to leave this place. This beach. This island. This moment. I want to stay right here. In the mostly silent contentment.
Returning home means life goes back to moving at 90 miles an hour. Deadlines. Projects. Self-doubt. Self-sabotage. Imposter Syndrome. A coming surgery for hyperparathyroidism. All the things.
Here, my mind is at peace. I’ve slept better than i have in months. Exercised more than I have in weeks.
The real world calls. This feeling of peace and contentment, I pray I can carry it with me and remember, at least for a while.
Amen.
No Comments