-
clothed in only a small life vest, curls drip onto her miniature frame.
she waits a moment, lingering on the sandy, shelly shore as periwinkles dig at her squirming toes. swaying on her tiny legs, which are bruised and scratched, battered by constant play, she looks across the shiny white grains to see what her four blonde and tanned and equally battered brothers are up to.
they travel in a pack, always anxiously searching for the next rambunctious activity to partake in on the beach whether its an interesting shell, or a sea creature washed to shore.
as she sees them skip along the beach to approach the water she seems as if she awakes from her daze and her revelry has ended.shaking off her concern she suddenly charges the water.
she doesn’t just put one toe in at a time, she doesn’t test the temperature, she doesn’t ask for permission, she runs, headlong as fast as her compact leg muscles can allow into the deep mystery ahead.the look of sheer bliss spreads her face as she awkwardly trips and skips over the small waves and fearlessly into the great vast ocean beyond.
she looks out into the approaching waves and is unafraid.
she is focused on the goal in sight….
her father is standing out in the water.
as she struggles to fight the current, the water swells closer and closer to her face, splashing up into her eyes. she blinks away the salt and continues, smile unfading.
unashamed by nakedness,
unconcerned by youth,
unhindered by her life vest,
unshaken by her preconceptions of the deep,
naive to the danger that could lurk,
at every blow of sea that pushes her further from her fathers extended hands, she doesn’t lose the joy and the spirit and the energy that motors her through the water,
despite her inexperience with swimming,
despite the smallness of her features, the newness of the entire experience, she is consistent.
her hair, plastered to her cheeks fixed with a smile,
her life vest, bobbing with each swell of the great sea that has her in its grips.
but with each movement, her fathers eyes don’t leave her place. He waits in anticipation, his smile a beacon of direction for his daughter. and her compass has only one north.
his laugh, an infectious sound drawing her ever closer,
his hands, a symbol of strength and persistence and constance that she craves as her body grows weaker and weaker with each burst of energy.
she propells herself ruthlessly into the surf
until at last she finally reaches her father.
with extended arms from both parties,
he reaches and takes her small helpless figure into his strong abled muscled arms and cradles her, his child. her body rises and lowers steadily with the remnants of her exertion but she is now at rest, relaxed, peaceful, and the look on her face is truly victorious.
as they embrace in the midst of the waves and the salt and the sea and the wind, they hold one another as if the conditions don’t exist, they don’t matter. all that matters is love.
worth the struggle.worth the fight.
worth the tears.
worth the salt.
worth the waves.
she is a woman.
at 4 years old.I’m so forgetful, but You always remind me, You’re the only one who brings me peace. So I come to tell You I love you, to tell You I need you, to tell You there’s no better place for me than in Your arms. To tell You i’m sorry, for running in circles, for placing my focus on the waves and not on Your face.
-“Running In Circles” by United Pursuit Band
I Corinthians 13
