A Seaside Story. (Previously Published. Now All In One Post.) Free Read. Jesus Saves.

 

The woman stoops to pick up a perfectly formed shell and holds it to her ear: sea music. She smiles, and feels like a girl again as she remembers a long ago beach outing. Her mother had placed a shell over her ear and told her to listen to the sea. Now, she listens once more and watches the blue-green waves as they gallop towards the shore. They crash noisily and drown out her seashell-ocean-music.

 She sits on the warm sand and hugs her knees. The scene before her is achingly lovely. Who made the sea? She wonders. How did it and the shells, sand, and sky come to be? She studies her toes, now covered with a myriad grains. So strange, she thinks, that she should be sitting here on this beach; breathing and living this life. For what? To just die like the little shell creatures? Why? Why? Why? The word echoes through her brain in time to the calls of the seagulls.

She finds no comfort in the thought of evolution. So purposeless. And anyway, she muses as she caresses the shell, how could something so exquisite come out of chaos and disorder? Her mind struggles with it all. She wrestles inwardly as she looks out to sea. Could the shell; could she herself have been created?

Her eyes strain towards the horizon as though looking for something; Someone. Perhaps a Creator, wise and powerful enough to have made the wonders surrounding her.

***

The more she thinks about it, the more reasonable it seems that there should be a Creator. But is there any evidence? She ponders the giant question whilst studying the seashell. Perhaps there is. Perhaps the seashell is proof; and not only it, but all the created things. A feeling that might be hope begins to grow.

A couple is walking hand in hand close to the playful waves. Could they also be evidence for a Creator? She studies the waves, and is rewarded by the sight of dolphins surfing joyfully and seabirds swooping and bobbing. As she studies the scene before her, the evidence grows: there must be a loving Creator.

Holding on to this hope, she leaves her spot, and carrying her sandals, begins to walk near the waves. She delights in the feel of the sand beneath her feet, and the cool water lapping over them. Energized, she walks further than she'd intended. Ahead of her, the couple has stopped, and seem to be pointing at something. In a little while, she reaches them.

"So sad." She hears the woman say. "Yes," says the man, "I wonder what killed him?"

Then she sees it. And smells it. A dead seal. She nods at the couple, then turns back abruptly. Must there always be death? The seal only serves to remind her of her struggles, the wrestling within. Yes, perhaps there is a Creator, but what about death? What about suffering? What about her sweet Gran who died so suddenly?

The peaceful scene has lost its sparkle, but a sense of urgency remains. She won't stop searching until the answers are found.

***

The next day, the woman locks the door of her grandmother's house and walks the short distance back to the beach. She has spent the day sorting through both nostalgic and prosaic items and now she is tired, sad, and more than a little ready for some fresh air. It is late afternoon and the beach looks different now. Some people are about: strolling, jogging, or walking dogs. She walks a little way in the gentle air until she hinds a quiet spot amongst the small dunes and grasses. She has brought a simple supper, which she eats while watching the evening's approach, and the seemingly happy people enjoying themselves. Will she ever feel that way again? At peace? Content? Or will there always be confusion and doubt? 

After packing up her few things, she begins to walk again. This time, away from the seal. Perhaps they have removed it by now, but she won't chance encountering it again. She walks close to the dunes, and is captivated by the pastel colours of the sky which soften and beautify everything around her. Then she comes upon it. Later, she would say that it was a turning point in her search: a wooden cross. It is made of drift wood. It is tall, yet plain and simple, and seems to glow in the soft light. She runs her hand over the smooth water-washed wood and is reminded once more of her Gran's faith. Her prayers. Her joyful smile. She remembers too, how she would attend church with her Grandmother whenever she'd spent her holidays at the beach. As she stands at the cross, she remembers how her Gran often spoke of Jesus, and how she'd lovingly invited her to accept Him too. But she hadn't. She'd gone her own way. Years had passed, and now her Grandmother was gone. If only she could speak with her one more time; ask questions, listen. Her heart yearns.. if only.  She feels that her Grandmother would have had some answers.

***

Only one day left; she reminds herself, as she wakes to the sound of seagulls' cries. One day left to sort through and pack up the remains of a lifetime: papers, books, ornaments, clothes, and sundries. She has made steady progress though, and only her Grandmother's room remains. The hardest room somehow. After coffee and a rusk, she begins with the wardrobe. By moving quickly and not lingering over remembered items, she is able to get through the task speedily. Once the bed is clear, she sits on her Gran's colourful afghan. She has memories of bed-time stories, Bible reading, and of looking at old photographs. She remembers too, her Gran's ginger cat, now gone, who used to sleep at the foot of the bed.

Smiling at the happy memories, she opens the drawer of the old bedside table. Her breath catches in her throat as she sees her Gran's worn Bible. Carefully, she holds it in her hand. It's the same Bible her Gran took faithfully with her to church. Other tasks forgotten, she carries it to the armchair, hoping, almost praying that it will contain longed for answers. The first thing she notices about the Bible, is the bookmarks and underlining it contains. She also discovers little notes on various papers and cards. Tears come to her eyes when she turns to the New Testament, and finds a photo of herself. Further on, she discovers her name on a prayer list. Quickly, she arranges to stay on one more day. Impulsively, she grabs a few supplies and carefully places the Bible in her bag. 

It is a beautiful day, and the umbrella stays put nicely. Today, she barely notices the comings and goings on the beach. She has much to read. She focuses on her Gran's underlining and notes in the New Testament, reading slowly and carefully. It almost feels as though her Gran is spending the day at the beach with her, gently teaching her as she did years ago.

By the afternoon, she has the answer, and guided by her Grandmother's hand, she makes a much prayed for decision  to make Jesus her Lord.

***

To read my testimony, visit the About Page.

Thanks for stopping by,

Love, Alison

💜🙏💜

Photo credit: Pedro Lastra. Unsplash