Saturday, February 9, 2013

Two halves Make a Whole

I'm a quarter of the way down the pier when I turn around. It's not enough to just look down at the water any more.

I head to the sand. I'm not dressed for the beach. I'm dressed for a California day in Feb while it's still winter. Jeans and a light V-neck pull over sweater.  The wind is chilly though the sun is shining.

The shoes are off. I have to get in the water. The tide is low. I can walk half the length of the pier before my ankles are wet. The sand holds ripples of black and gold. I could pan for it. I could gather and collect it all--if I was a fool.

Did my mother walk this beach? The sand her feet touched has probably been swept to the bottom of the ocean by now. The sand she was lying on when she thought she was cool and told some boys she was an 'extra' in the movie Jaws.

Broken and scattered shells compete for my attention among the sandy ripples of gold. I don't want the broken ones. I don't want a dull one. I only want a bright, intact orange one. Though I know it won't be as bright once it leaves the beach, it's ocean home. It was meant to be appreciated from under the cover of the sea, where it looks the loveliest.

I search for something else. Is it possible? God can you give me this? Can you make this sign for me?

I need to leave. It's getting later. Do I have time? I know this is ridiculous but I keep searching among the remnants of the sea. My hand is cold and getting numb from rinsing the orange one. My feet don't notice the temperature. I keep searching, scanning the shore. Turning shells over with my big toe, looking for it.

I need something. I'm asking for this ridiculous sign, Lord. I'm writing this post in my head as I search. I've got to find it so I know this entry ends how I've written my head.

There it is!

It's broken and battered. But it's there. It's real.


Two halves, still connected, as one being. Unseparated. Whole.

I can go home now.

Mark 10:8 and the two will become one flesh. So they are no longer two but one.

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