THE CALL OF THE NOT-SO-WILD

   

I made a solo trip to LBI last week, just to sit by the sea for a while. We hadn’t been able to get there all this past summer because so many other things were going on in our lives. I took a beach chair, a journal, a sweatshirt (just in case), and coffee, of course. I drove to Centre Street in Beach Haven, parked my car, and found a spot to call “home” for a couple of hours. I know that the phrase “it was a spiritual experience” is quite overused these days, but there are legitimate moments that definitely fit that description, and that was one of them for me.

            It was a really nice time sitting there listening to the waves crashing on the beach and admiring the great expanse of the sea, and trying to get the message across to an attentive seagull that I had nothing to offer it. The air was pleasantly balmy—forget the sweatshirt. I couldn’t help but take off my shoes and walk down to the water’s edge to test the temperature of the living waters with its salt and shells and wet sand. It was like stepping into nature’s sauna, though of a cooler variety—not the type in a small room filled with steam. Much bigger, but just as personal.

            But here’s the thing that I want to share about that: It was raining when I got up that morning—not hard, but raining nonetheless. Not the perfect beach day. So I almost didn’t go. But I did eventually get into the car and head off. On Rt. 539, down around Whiting, it started to rain even harder. I almost turned around, thinking that maybe there was another day in the near future that would be better. But I kept on going because I really wanted to be on the beach.

            I got to the Causeway and a little bit of sun came out. I got on the island and a lot more sun came out. Suddenly it was the perfect beach day, and all was well. Then I thought about the fact that if I had given in to the inclination to not go or not to keep on going, I would have missed a wonderful opportunity to follow my heart’s longing.

            When it was time to pack up, I had one more thing I wanted to do: Have some New England clam chowder from the little shop in Bay Village, if they were still open. They were and I did.

          

             Why I’m sharing this with you is because it occurs to me that we no doubt often miss out on many rich moments of life because things don’t look promising or it feels as if the tide of life is against us. We get discouraged and say it’s for another day. And in many cases, I suppose, we are wise to heed the signs when it comes to the less important inspirations of a moment.

            Yet, in that deeper place in our hearts, when we are especially in need of healing or hope or self-care, I wonder if we give up too easily, and dismiss those opportunities as being frivolous or foolish anyway? They aren’t, of course. In fact they may be the most significant things we can do for ourselves. I think the Divine forces of life are at work to enable us to experience just what we need if we are persistent. By the way, when I  got off the beach, it started to rain again.