Finding Perspective At The Beach
2019-12-17
(and a whole lot of reminiscing)
We never had a pool growing up. That excitement was reserved for hotel visits. We had so much more – beaches galore. Real beaches. Beautiful white soft sandy beaches that stretched for miles. There were sand dunes with the sharp green marram grass you avoided walking on.
(It was the 80’s when we were still allowed to climb the dunes, not quite aware of the importance of preserving habitats and minimizing erosion.)
Climbing those deep sandy mountains was such a workout. Our little skinny legs would tremble with exhaustion.
Jumping down the dunes felt like flying.
We must have slept well at night after those days at the beach. The energy used in exploring…climbing over and over again…walking and searching for beach treasures…and of course swimming.
Our favourite beach was Basin Head. We parked up on the hill and walked a slight winding dirt trail down to a wooden pier with an arched metal bridge that hurt our bare feet a little as we crossed. The bridge took us over the channel run to the other pier and the white singing sands that stretched on and on.
On summer days, the channel was filled with people splashing in from their leap off the bridge, floating by in the swift current before grabbing the barnacled metal ladder on the side just in time, the big ocean in sight. If you missed the last ladder, it was a hard swim around the end of the pier against the current and back onto the beach.
As a kid, it felt risky to skip that last ladder.
But that was all part of the fun!
I can smell the distinct scent of the wooden wharf – likely the chemicals used to treat the wood mixed with saltwater. It is a beloved smell of my childhood and a source of many happy memories.
When we wanted a break from the crowds, we had another favourite spot. It was more work to get there, which is likely why we often found ourselves the only ones enjoying it. There were no big welcome signs to point the way. Dad just had to remember which dirt road to go down, find a parking spot that wasn’t private property and wouldn’t get us yelled at. While it may have only happened once, there was always an inkling that those cottagers felt we were trespassing despite the little trail being public property.
Maybe not public. Maybe just unknown.
We didn’t take wagons of stuff to the beach. No chairs and umbrellas. Just our bathing suits, towels, maybe a bucket and shovel, and always a little cooler with snacks – healthy ones like Doritos and Pepsi. Oh, and the inflatable floating mattress that smelled like a mix of chemicals, rubber and saltwater with a soft felt-like material top. Our skin often burnt red as we bobbled up and down on the ocean waves.
It always felt like a secret mission as a seven-year-old, carrying our load for what felt like miles to our special spot. We passed broken lobster traps, colourful rope pieces lost from fishing boats, driftwood and shells. We chased seagulls and watched for perfectly whole sand dollars dried up on shore. I always kept my eyes sharp for a perfect little shell with a tiny hole to grace a homemade necklace.
When the tide was in, this magical spot had a narrow canal. We didn’t need a bridge to jump in over our heads, nor did we need a diving board. We could jump right off the sandy edge and be engulfed in the saltwater current. We’d kick for the side, climb out and do it all over again. We had our own saltwater pool there at the beach.
I hadn’t been back to those spots for many, many years.
Living an 18-hour drive away from my childhood home doesn’t give me a lot of opportunities to share these memorable places with my own little family, but it was time to change that when we visited this past summer. I was so excited to get back home and share my slice of heaven on earth with them.
The weather was perfect when we made the 2-hour trek to the East end of the Island. We pulled up beside my old home full of memories. I pointed out my old bedroom window, the tree I used to climb, and the little church I remember hiding under in games of hide-and-seek. I showed them my best friend’s house where I spent so much of my childhood and drove the little route we walked to school in the 80’s. Finally we pulled into the parking lot of the beach I have elevated higher than any others: Basin Head.
I was a little scared it wouldn’t meet my hyped-up expectations.
But it did not disappoint. It is still the most fun beach!
In the few hours we had there, we jumped off the pier and bridge countless times. I delighted in seeing my six-year-old daughter bravely inch out onto the bridge’s ledge. She stood for so long I thought she would change her mind, but then she took a deep breath and jumped. She, too, thought it was the best.
We floated out the run, bobbed in the big waves, built sandcastles, walked long in the soft deep sand, ate snacks and watched people. All things a good beach day is made of!
Despite the beach being full of playful memories for me, it is also the place I process life best.
The rhythm of the waves gives my mind freedom to think through things I try to box up, to feel emotions I push back everywhere else. The wind in my eyes gives permission for the tears to come. The honest prayers usually locked inside can be whispered out loud as the waves cover them and the wind whisks them up to God’s ears.
The grandeur of the sky and water before me give perspective: He is big enough for all of me, and he holds me close. As Creator, Redeemer, Provider, Healer, Life, Shalom, and Emmanuel, I know my God is with me…and with those who weigh heavy on my heart. He is holding all things together and will move when it is time.
I don’t live near the ocean now but have a heart full of gratitude that God didn’t lead me somewhere landlocked, but only a 20-minute drive from one of the Great Lakes. There is a unique beauty to Lake Ontario when the waters shimmer turquoise, and it provides the same soul-soothing sounds like my beloved ocean.
Sometimes when I am heading out on routine errands, I crest the hill and spot the lake shining gold in the sunshine. It only makes sense to detour for a brief visit to my personal haven.
God feels close there. My lungs open wider there. And my soul rests.
For you it might be a wide-open field, a forest walk, a cozy chair in your home, or listening to music loud in your car…wherever it is and however it looks, everyone needs a place of their own where God feels close and where you can lay your heart open before him.
We can accept his invitation to bring our weary heart and anxious thoughts to him, laying them down in simple trust before a compassionate and mighty God who already holds us securely.
And there, as we lean into his constant presence, we will find rest.