(Think Oregon beaches with their massive boulders in the sand.)
Mmmmmmmm…she loved everything about it.
The smell.
The feel.
The sight.
Even the taste. The salty water that left its flavor on her lips after a day of splashing and a trace of residue on her bare legs. Sweet memories of a day well spent.
The waves crashing in and out, the ebb and flow of its waters, coming toward her with power and leaving with gentleness.
The air, blowing through her hair, refreshing her olfactory with the scent of the sea.
And the sand! Oh, the sand! That endless stretch of play space, to run on, sink her toes into, to write her name and make her mark. The sand that begged her to build castles small and grand.
But at the end of each day, when she was worn by the wind and the sea, she would crawl up onto her favorite rock. Her safe place of refuge and comfort. High and protected. Strong and solid. The only place she knew where she had the best view of this ocean she loved. She would nestle into the spot reserved only for her, that groove in this mammoth stone that fit her perfectly, as if it had her name on it. As if it knew her and waited patiently for her to come and rest. Waves could crash, waters could rise, winds could blow, but nothing could touch her when she was one with her rock. Each night she fell asleep, cradled in its strength, certain of its ability to hold her.
Morning would come and with it the most beautiful sunrise. She and her rock would watch the sky slowly light up with its watercolor hues, illuminating a new day, beckoning another version of wind and waves. A playful song of “come and get me!” coming from its lovely grin hovering the horizon.
Scampering down from her rock with renewed energy and vigor, she would hit the sand running. Dancing. Taking in the new air, spreading her arms to the possibility of another day of magic.
And the sand! Oh the sand! Calling her name loud and clear. To immerse her hands in its warm, rich texture. To let it flow through her open fingers, every tiny grain a little bit different than the next. Every grain reminding her of the vastness of what could be.
This calling would stir in her something that she could do little to stop. The desire to do something beautiful. Her hands would begin flying, building, creating.
And after hours of intensive heartfelt labor and thought, she would enjoy her finished product. A castle, sometimes big, sometimes small, but always with great love. Her mark on this endless beach.
Exhausted, she would call it a days end and go back to her rock for another night of peaceful sleep. But this night, as every other, the wind would blow, the waves would crash, the waters would crash into the sandy beach.
With the next sunrise, she would wake to find all that she had worked so hard on the day before demolished. A mere lump of nothingness where beauty had resided only hours before.
She wept. What a waste. Of time, energy and love. She had poured her heart and soul into that work of art that stood so tall and proud a day ago. And for what? The ocean that she loved had destroyed it. The wind seemed to mock the irony with its whistling laughter. And her beloved sand just there, doing nothing at all to bring itself back to life.
For days she mourned, determined to never build another castle again. It was pointless, meaningless.
She sat with her rock and did nothing for what seemed like a small eternity.
But in a moment of that silent time of rest and a dose of self-pity, it came to her, as clear and beautiful as the sunrise she witnessed each day. That continual yearning in her, that desire to build, to create something of value, something lasting and full of meaning was there for a purpose. She WAS to build and create. It was how she was made. Her destiny.
Something would have to change. The sand had proven its own inability to withstand against outside forces of nature. A new foundation was needed. Something solid. Something higher than the waves and stronger than the sea.
Her rock! It made perfect sense! Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Her safe place of refuge and strength would become her foundation. The only place on which she would build from this day forward.
The thought made her giddy with anticipation. She began to gather materials. Shells, rocks, driftwood. Things too large to slip through her fingers like those grains of sand. Things that had landed on this beach as a result of wind, waves and water and had survived.
Hours were spent. But time seemed to fly as she and her rock crafted a project together. A thing of beauty built in the right place ready for the right time and protected by strength and safety against whatever may come her way.
She would still play in the sand, feel its warmth between her toes, take in every salty breath of air from each wave coming in and flowing out. But the sand had its place and she had hers.
And everything she built from that day on would find its grounding in the rock that would not move.
Matthew 7:24-27 – “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”
2 Samuel 22:32 – “For who is God, besides the LORD? And who is a rock, besides our God? Psalm 18:2 – The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my savior; my God is my rock, in whom I find protection. He is my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety.”
Psalm 18:2 – The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my savior; my God is my rock, in whom I find protection. He is my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety.
