The Ocean Speaks

Today, the wild Pacific Ocean!  My six-month-old puppy stays at heel by my side, responds to commands and seems ready for the shore instead of a quiet lake walk. 

The flat shore is a monster today: ten breaking waves and salty foam at break point.  The scene is the follow-up from two hurricane-force storms.  I sink into three inch rain-soaked holes at every step. This is no walk in the park.

A late-model white truck approaches and halts directly in front of me, 15 feet from the rising tide.  My heart stops and I yell inside—don’t slow down; the sand swells with storm water and is SO soft.  But the drivers steps on the gas too late and the truck wheels twirl.

I remember dos and don’ts, but the young man doesn’t even know how to get the borrowed truck into four-wheel drive.  I call 911 and get the number of two rescue services.  No answer.

Ten minutes pass and we are only10 feet from the wave.  I find that these drivers are Canadian students who say, “We know nothing”.  The girl gets out of the truck and stands on the rear bumper as her friend finds four-wheel drive and begins yet another assault on the impossible.

The 911 operator and I soon partner on my cell phone and we connect with the local police who are only able to help with rescue but cannot provide rescue (laws!).  I see two black dots on the horizon.  Pup and I run full speed toward a small jeep and ask them to give aide.  The next dot is the police SUV and I point toward the distant truck, knowing that my work here is over.

I know this beach well, but wait a minute! The familiar beach is no more:  The yellow sign at trail’s head and other trusty stakes in the ground are nowhere to be found.  They’ve been decimated by the storm!  

I climb up the sand to the dunes and see my dire position!  Familiar beach-front homes are in the wrong place. I’ve long-since passed the trail and must double back.  I decide to return on the dunes rather than the beach.  It seems logical. 

Yet each step is an adventure.  The pup leaps over logs and splashes through swamps that now populate the waist-high dunes, while I use all of my available leg strength to maintain balance and avoid falling.  Forty-five minutes later, we find the trail and head home with me in a full sweat.  My shaking body gives way to a steaming hot bath and the pup lies spread eagle on the floor.

Upon reflection I find that experiential learning again is at its best:

·       Pray first.  When I met up with the couple in the truck, I needed to immediately call on the name of the Lord.  I did not.

·       Submit to His quiet spirit.  I recognized their fear.  It was an open door to introduce the love-power of God to them or at bare minimum to depart in Jesus name.  I did not change the atmosphere.

·       Stop.  Later, when I was alone on the dunes, I continued to make split-second decisions in do-it-yourself mode, until I realized that much of my progress was interrupted by the standing water, logs and debris from the storms.  I did not stop first, and ask Holy Spirit for direction back to the beach.

Here we have it!  Graduate level course in preparedness for those who seek God as Lord.  I have only two-choices in trauma:  “head in the sand” or “heart in the Lard”.  Which will I choose next time?