The Beach

After spending the night in an Umacha (or what I call a wooden teepee) at Indian Camp with some fellow Indian campers, I was planning to spend my day off sitting by the river, reading and pondering the mysteries of life.  I was looking forward to a slow, quiet, introverted day.

But then I saw my brother going into his house, who was planning on going to Fresno, a few hours away.  I asked him when he was leaving, and he said he was actually going to Sacramento.  All of the sudden, my introverted day at the river didn't sound as fun as seeing Sacramento.  So I asked him if I could come, and he said yes.  Yea!  So I started getting ready to go, but then, right as I finished getting ready for a day of travel and adventure, he said he wasn't going today. He was going tomorrow.  Darn.

Well, by now I was already in the mood to go somewhere I hadn't been yet; some distant land I had not yet seen.  What was at the top of my list of distant places?  The beach.  I've been missing the beach and ocean a lot, and have had an itch to go see it.  The only problem is that the nearest beach is about four hours away.  Most of the time, that distance sounds daunting enough to keep me hanging out at the river, in the park, or at the most, Fresno on my days off.  But this day was different, for some reason.  So at about noon on my day off, I began the four-hour drive to the coast near Watsonville (near Monteray Bay Academy).  I got there just before 4 p.m., spent an hour and a half at one beach, then stopped by another one on my way out since I already had to pay to get into the state parks.

The beach was not like Yap at all, and I wasn't expecting it to be.  It was cold and foggy, kind of like I remember the Oregon and Washington coast.  But the waves were rolling in, pelicans and seagulls were flying, and the air smelled and tasted like salt and made my hair all nice and frizzy. The cold water and sand felt good on my feet.

As random as it may seem, it was wonderful.  I don't feel an urge to completely explain how I could drive eight hours in one day for two hours at a cold, foggy beach, because you probably still wouldn't get it, and that's ok.  I will say that I had plenty of time to talk with God, my family, and my friend Elisa on the way and way back.  (Yes, I put it on speaker-phone, because I am a California-law-abiding-citizen).  I listened to music and a radio program my mom sent me, and ate my left-over pizza and Indulgent trail mix, and even played my ukulele in construction traffic.

Here's what God told me on this trip: Be present.  Wherever I am, is where He wants me.  He has lessons, a purpose, and a blessing for me right here, and right now.  But I won't get any of that if I don't take the present seriously.  So, with God's help, here I am.  But "here" might be the beach or some other random place now and then on my days off.

"I hear the tumult of the raging seas as Your waves and surging tides sweep over me.  Through each day the Lord pours His unfailing love upon me, and through each night I sing His songs, praying to God who gives me life." Psalm 42:7,8