The
Sandpiper
by Robert Peterson
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I
live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever
the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sand castle or
something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
"Hello," she said.
I
answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small
child.
"I'm
building," she said.
"I
see that. What is it?" I asked, not really caring.
"Oh,
I don't know, I just like the feel of sand." That sounds good, I
thought, and slipped off my shoes.
A
sandpiper glided by. "That's a joy," the child said.
"It's a what?"
"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy." The
bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,
hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed, my life seemed
completely out of balance.
"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.
"Robert,"
I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."
"Mine's
Wendy... I'm six."
"Hi,
Wendy."
She
giggled. "You're funny," she said. In spite of my gloom, I laughed
too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.
"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day.."
The
next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings,
and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands
out of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up
my coat.
The
ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but
I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
"Hello, Mr.. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
"I
don't know. You say."
"How
about charades?" I asked sarcastically.
The
tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."
"Then let's just walk."
Looking
at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
> "Where do you live?" I asked.
"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages. Strange, I
thought, in winter.
"Where do you go to school?"
"I
don't go to school.. Mommy says we're on vacation" She chattered
little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other
things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was
in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch
and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.
"Look,
if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd
rather be alone today." She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.
"Why?" she asked.
I
turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, My
God, why was I saying this to a little child?
"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."
"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!"
"Did
it hurt?" she inquired.
"Did
what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.
"When she died?"
"Of
course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I
strode off.
A
month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up
to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking
young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.
"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today
and wondered where she was."
"Oh
yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm
afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please,
accept my apologies."
"Not
at all --! she's a delightful child." I said, suddenly realizing that I
meant what I had just said.
"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia Maybe she didn't
tell you." Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.
"She
loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.
She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy
days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice
faltered, "She left something for you, if only I can find it.
Could you wait a moment while I look?"
I
nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely
young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in
bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a
yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird.
Underneath was carefully printed:
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to
love opened wide... I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm
so sorry, I'm so sorry," I uttered over and over, and we wept together.
The
precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words
-- one for each year of her life -- that speak to me of harmony,
courage, and undemanding love.
A
gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand
> -- who taught me the gift of love.
Do you Seek a Deeper Life with
God?
The apostle Paul prayed, “That I may know Him . .
.” (Philippians 3:10).
The late missionary to South Africa Andrew Murray was a holy man. At one
point in his life he was going through a painful experience. Murray was
quiet for sometime before the Lord and then he wrote these words for
himself: "First, He brought me here, it is by His will I am in this
strait place: in that fact I will rest. Next, He will keep me here in
His love, and give me grace to behave as His child. Then, He will make
the trial a blessing, teaching me the lessons He intends me to learn,
and working in me the grace He means to bestow. Last, in His good time
He can bring me out again—how and when He knows."
The Christian is here:
· By God’s appointment,
· In His keeping,
· Under His training,
· For His time. more
Shedding Tears for Strangers
I never served in the
military. Before my son unexpectedly volunteered for the Marines, I was
busy writing my novels and raising my family, and giving little thought
to the men and women who guard us. My attitude has changed. I did not
choose to change. I was forced to.
When my son was at war in Iraq I felt anger toward my circle of oldest
friends — mostly well-off, well-educated people. I didn't know one other
parent with a son or daughter in harm's way or even in the military. And
no leaders were asking Americans outside the military to make any
sacrifices. Were we all in this together or not?
More
What's
in a good soup? Love, laughter, good friends!
Entree
HomeMade
