I was sitting there thinking and looking out into the waters that held
a few of my children when I heard a noise coming from behind me.
I turned to see a husband and wife carrying a small fragile
old man in a sun chair to the waters edge.
He was not healthy, this I could tell right off.
He was frail and very sick. His face looked sad and weathered.
His body barely able to keep it's position...
and I wondered about him and his life
before things got like this.
I wondered what he was thinking.
I could see them fussing over him. Making
sure his hat was on his head. Making sure he was sitting
up in his chair but he didn't seem to notice
any of it. His gaze was fixed to the sea.
His eyes never leaving whatever it was
he was fixed on.
What I didn't notice right off was the way his
feet lay in the sand and the water rolled
over them time and time again as
being washed by some invisible hand.
My tears started flowing because I imagined the Lord
coming to him and washing his tired old feet on the
beautiful ocean floor. Time and time again the water
gently rolled over his old bones.I walked over not really wanting to interrupt but
just wanting to take a picture for them and I heard his story
and right there in front of strangers, I sobbed.
I cried for him.
I cried for Sherry who lost Tom.
I cried for the day when
this would happen to us all.
His wife, the love of his life whom he lived with for 50 years
died two weeks earlier and they said he was depressed so they
brought him out to the ocean and the waves hoping that it would
make him feel better somehow.
I kept watching the water roll over his feet.
My mind mingling with the thoughts of my heart
that the Lord was washing this mans feet
and encouraging him to keep running his race.
The race the Lord put in front of him.
Yes, the race was hard but the Lord would renew his strength
even now. He kept looking forward, looking off
into the depths, and I had to wonder
if he was talking to the Lord, if he was questioning or if he was begging
for the Lord to bring him home.
How many times had he swam here
or ran down these white foamy pastures?
How many times had the ocean been his rescue?
How many times had his feet hit these waters?
Now he's old and now he sits, he runs no more
he swims no more, but he just sits in a chair
and he gets to look at the beauty before him.
Silent not a word
He's taking it all in maybe for the last time
and everyone there knows it.
Our lives are but a vapor. Is this our last time to take
in the beauty around us? Are we looking and not speaking
a word? Are we talking to our God and thanking him
for our race even though it's hard sometimes.
Live today as if...this could be your last