Reach for God’s Hand and Swim
It’s funny how, in the most unexpected moments, we find ourselves spouting wisdom we didn’t know we possess. It’s as if we’re used by God as his mouthpiece when we least expect it. I’ve been thinking about these serendipitous moments since last week, after I took a walk by the beach with my overwhelmed friend, who owns two successful art galleries in Southern California and struggles with juggling clients, artists, and employees in two different locations. Her overhead is so high, it’s absolutely staggering.
My friend telephoned me at eight o’clock on a cloudless, Malibu morning. “Everything’s falling apart. I need to get out of my head,” she said the moment I picked up the phone. And I, arriving at the first response that came to me, said, “Put on your tennis shoes. Let’s go for a walk.”
A half hour later, I met my friend at Zuma Beach, which is halfway between her house and mine. With many of the local kids back in school, the boardwalk was clear at that early hour, save for the surfers reverentially studying the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean, intent on sizing up the waves before they joined in the splendor. Because the moon had been full the night before, the tide was high, and the waves were crashing. My friend and I fell into a steady rhythm on the boardwalk, side-by-side.
I’ve been around the block many times with a friend in need. Having been in such straits myself, I knew it was best to just listen. I figured my friend didn’t need my advice as much as she needed a sounding board. There’s much to be said about giving a friend space to articulate a problem, and I thought the sheer act of hearing herself frame her quandary would help.
My friend was confused and uncertain of what to do with the many problems in her business. The problems seemed disjointed but paradoxically attendant to each other. Though my ears were attuned to her every syllable, my eyes scanned the ocean as we walked along. I watched the waves crest and fall in a steady cadence. In a flash of startling insight, I saw the waves roll dramatically forward then fold back gracefully into themselves before they leveled out and began again. I stopped in my tracks and turned, facing the ocean. Following my lead, my friend quit talking and turned too.
“What?” she asked. “Why are we stopping?”
“Look straight ahead. I’m thinking of a perfect analogy.”
“About me?” she asked.
“Yes, it’s applicable to your situation. Just watch the waves for a minute,” I said. “See the constant movement? There’s a rhythm to the waves. It’s a lot like the rhythm of life.”
When God gave us the oceans, he gifted us with a beautiful, fluid metaphor. It came to me that morning on Zuma Beach that our earthly affairs happen in a rhythm similar to the anatomy of a wave. There are times when we glide along without much of anything happening. Yet experience has taught me that what is placid can be deceiving. Like the waves, those stretches that seem uneventful are actually building beneath the surface to an unexpected crescendo. But the good news is we never stay permanently amidst an obstruction. Like a wave, when circumstances seem out of hand, they inevitably flow wavelike back into themselves. It doesn’t matter if the cycle plays out in a day or if it lasts a year. It’s what we hold onto in rough waters that counts. With God, there’s no need to become anxious. I looked at my friend as I considered this and said, “I think God is in the details of our cyclical lives. No matter what, we’re going to face disruption. I can’t think of a place where it’s written that life will always be easy. It’s what each of us does with the disruption that dictates the experience.”
“What do you suggest I do?” she asked me.
“If you want to hold steady,” I said, “just reach for God’s hand.”
It’s life unexpected moments that reaffirm my faith, and this time I was nudged on Zuma Beach through the gift of friendship. Sometimes it takes effort on my part to stay connected to God through the vagaries of life, but it’s the awareness that I’m a contributor to my relationship with him that encourages me to reach out. I reach out my hand because I know it will be taken. When in deep waters, I reach for God’s hand and swim.
grew up in Memphis, TN and now lives in Malibu, CA. She is the author of Mourning Dove, a Southern family saga set in 1970’s Memphis, released by Firefly Southern Fiction in June 2018. Claire is the author of contemporary fiction, “Dancing to an Irish Reel,” and paranormal mystery, “A Portal in Time.” She is one of four contributors to the book, A Southern Season, with her novella, Through an Autumn Window to be published November 1, 2018 by Firefly Southern Fiction. Claire is represented by Julie Gwinn, of The Seymour Literary Agency, and can be found on WordPress, Twitter (cfullerton3) Goodreads, Instagram ( cffullerton) as well as the website under her name.
Photograph © Artem Bali, used with permission
