Keith the Lonely Shark

Well, it's been a while since I've been here; much longer than I'd thought, to be honest. A whole year since I last posted any of my ramblings. Does 'I've been busy...' sound a bit lame? Yes, I thought so too. 

Well, I am back. And I say that with the full knowledge that life is no less busy than it was last year when writing got pushed off the agenda, but I am here with the very best of intentions to get back to this lovely little corner of the internet that gives me life. I am starting to learn (belatedly, having waited until middle age for the penny to drop) that I need to do more of the things that give me life and less of the things that suck life from me. Having said that, a lot of the life-sucking things can't really be removed or delegated...

But that is life, isn't it? 

Anyway, here's a bit of nonsense just to get my fingers taptaptapping again. 

Keith the Lonely Shark

[A word of explanation:  This story is set in 2018 on the Suffolk coast, where we were holidaying with our buckets and spades. My daughters, both keen competitive swimmers, were wearing their flippers to swim in the sea, and early in the holiday, one of Lizzy's slipped off her foot and a wave took it away. Days later, that same flipper was found on a different part of the beach!  On the same morning walk upon which we discovered the Lost Flipper, we also found a small, deceased fish that looked a bit shark-like. I'm still not sure what kind of fish it was, but we named it a shark, and speculated on how it ended up on a sandy beach in Suffolk, England.]

Keith was a baby shark. He was only little, and still learning about shark life so he had to follow his mummy everywhere. His brothers and sisters were happy to stay close to Mummy but Keith wanted to explore. He wanted to make friends with the other ocean dwellers and couldn't understand why he never caught more than a quick glimpse of them as he swam past with his Shark family. They always seemed to be swimming away from him, or even hiding. Keith asked his mummy why the other fish didn't want to be his friend. She smiled at him, revealing row upon row of sharp, jagged teeth.

'It's because we're sharks, sweetheart. We don't have friends; we eat them."

Keith was shocked. As his mummy explained that all the other fish were afraid of sharks, and were trained by their mummies to rush and hide whenever the Shark family came near, Keith became more and more sad. He blinked away a tear, which was immediately lost in the saltiness of the ocean. 

He carried on following his mummy, listening to all she told him as a good shark should, but his heart was heavy. He so wanted a friend, but his mummy was right. As soon as the Shark family wafted past, all the other fish fled into the distance, behind rocks, among the weeds. He pointed this out to his siblings, but they didn't seem to mind, Indeed, they seemed to relish being scary and laughed as all the other fish darted away. 

Keith began hanging back a short distance from his family as they swam. He tried to catch the eye of other sea creatures before they disappeared and he gave them what he hoped were warm, encouraging smiles, but he soon realised that, like his mummy, when he opened his mouth, he showed his razor sharp teeth and frightened the other fish even more.  He began to swim with his lips closed tightly. 

'I must be the loneliest shark in the world,' he thought, sadly.

One day, just like any other, Keith was listlessly wafting along behind his family as they terrorised the seas near the beach when he saw a new fish that he had not seen before. This fish seemed different. Strangely, despite being small and delicate-looking, it seemed unafraid of the Shark family. It was quite relaxed, bobbing about on the current, this way and that, with its strangely-shaped dorsal fin sometimes uppermost, sometimes facing the sea bed. The fish was bright pink; the most beautiful shade of pink that Keith had ever seen in the grey sea that was his home. He paused and smiled shyly at the small pink fish. To his delight, it didn't swim away in alarm as all the other sea creatures had. 

Keith was filled with happiness. He circled the small pink fish, smiling broadly. It twirled lazily in the water and smiled back. Had Keith made a friend?

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" asked Keith, as the small pink fish floated elegantly past him. 

"Why should I be?" she asked. 

Keith was amazed. "Because I'm a shark!" he explained. "Everyone swims away and hides from us in case we eat them."

"Well, you can't eat me!" laughed the small pink fish. She seemed to find his puzzled expression amusing. "I'm not like the other fish. Your sharp teeth don't scare me. You see, I'm made of rubber. I'm a Flipper-Fish."

"A Flipper-Fish?" Keith's mummy had never told him about Flipper-Fish. 

"Yes. A Flipper-Fish. I live in the sea now, because my dry-land mummy, a little girl called Lizzy, lost me some time ago. I've been looking for a way to get back to the beach ever since."

"Can't you swim back?" asked Keith, still confused. 

"I can't swim at all without Lizzy," explained Small Pink Flipper-Fish. "Now I'm alone I have to go with the flow and see where the currents take me."

Keith pondered this strange tale as he swam around her in smaller and smaller circles, until he was close enough to to nudge her with his pointy nose. The Small Pink Flipper-Fish giggled. 

"You're tickling me!" Keith was delighted. He did it again, and was rewarded with another beautiful peal of laughter. 'How wonderful!' he thought to himself. 'I've made a friend!'

For the next couple of days Keith and Small Pink Flipper-Fish went everywhere together. They worked out that if Keith propelled her along by pushing her with his nose, he made her squirm and giggle, and they had lots of fun but didn't get very far, or he could hook his dorsal fin inside the opening on her tummy and pull her with him, riding on his back. She loved the thrill of swimming at Shark-speed and would laugh with joy. Keith felt wonderful. He was so happy. 

One day, Keith and his friend were in shallow water Small Pink Flipper-Fish seemed distant and wistful. Keith asked her what was wrong. 

"The sandy seabed reminds me of the last time Lizzy took me swimming. Before that day I'd only ever known a sea very different from this. It was warm and crystal clear, not salty at all, with no seaweed, and the seabed was smooth and white, with a black line that always showed us the way to go. I miss Lizzy so much." 

Small Pink Flipper-Fish looked so miserable that Keith felt sad. He wanted to help her and make her smile again but didn't know how. Suddenly she turned to him with an urgent, excited look in her eyes. 

"Oh Keith. I've had an idea. You're so strong and brave and kind. Will you help me get back onto dry land? If could only get back onto the beach Lizzy might find me and take me back to where I belong!"

Keith didn't know what to say. He was filled with confusion. If he helped Small Pink Flipper-Fish to get back to the beach he would lose her and be lonely again. He was so happy having finally found a friend. But on the other hand, if he didn't help her, she'd be sad and lost forever. He agonised over his decision. Small Pink Flipper-Fish searched his face with anxious, hopeful eyes. Suddenly Keith knew what he had to do. 

" Of course I will." he said, determinedly, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. Small Pink Flipper-Fish's face lit up. 

"Oh, lovely, lovely Keith!" she cried. "You are my hero!" 

Keith had never been a hero before. He smiled back at her sadly, but proudly. 

It was decided that Keith would carry Small Pink Flipper-Fish on his dorsal fin and swim as fast as he could toward the beach, aiming to catch a breaking wave for added momentum to try to get her as high as possible onto the sand. Her excitement grew and grew and Keith quickly realised that she wanted to try their plan straight away. As the two friends swam into deeper water in order to prepare for their run at dry land, Small Pink Flipper-Fish suddenly turned to Keith.

"Come with me!" she said, urgently. "Come back to the crystal clear ocean far away. I'll introduce you to my twin sister, and all my friends. Come with me, Keith! Lizzy won't mind, I know she won't!" 

"I don't think I can," replied Keith, sadly. "I can't survive on dry land. And I'm not sure, but I think I need salty water. I would love to, but I can't come with you."

Small Pink Flipper-Fish gazed at him in despair. "Then this is goodbye," she whispered. Keith was too choked up to reply. 

At that moment there came the swell of a big wave headed straight in to the shoreline. It was time. Keith scooped up Small Pink Flipper-Fish with his distinctive dorsal fin and swished his strong tail. They picked up speed in no time, combining Keith's powerful swimming action with the momentum of the huge wave. The water rushed inland. Faster and faster Keith swam, and Small Pink Flipper-Fish rode breathlessly on his back. the sea grew shallower and shallower. Still faster they swam, faster... and then the wave crashed onto the sandy beach and the two friends saw how close they were to dry land. With a muscular flick of his caudal fin, Keith leapt onto the sand. Small Pink Flipper-Fish squealed with delight as she tumbled off his back and bounced on the sand before coming to rest high on the beach on a soft bed of powdery yellow sand and small pebbles. 

Keith slowed to a halt and felt smooth, wet sand beneath his tummy. He was several feet away from Small Pink Flipper-Fish but able to see her basking in the sun, back on dry land, with a delighted grin. He had helped his friend get back where she belonged. It was a good feeling. Small Pink Flipper-Fish caught his eye and blew him a kiss. 

"Keith, you are wonderful! How can I ever thank you? You are the kindest, loveliest, most generous shark in the world!" 

Keith blushed. He felt so many emotions: joy at his friend's obvious happiness, relief that he'd managed to help her, hope that Lizzy would soon come back and collect her, and a deep, deep sadness that he would soon have to return to his own home. 

Keith let out a deep sigh as he moved his tail to turn around and head back to the deep water and his family. But something was wrong. He moved his tail again, more urgently, but he couldn't feel the water at all. He was higher up the beach than he had anticipated. He thrashed from side to side but although he could see it over his shoulder, the water was not reaching him.

He'd have to wait for the next big wave. His mother had told him that every seventh wave was bigger than the others. He counted - four, five, six...but the seventh wave, bigger though it was, only lapped gently at his caudal fin and was nowhere near enough to lift him from the sand so he could swim. 

The tide was going out. 

Small Pink Flipper-Fish watched helplessly as Keith grew weaker and weaker, drowsier and drowsier.  She called to him. 

"Keith! Hold on! The sea will be back later today!" 

But Keith had been right. He could only live in the sea, and Small Pink Flipper-Fish's voice was getting fainter and fainter, as if she were further and further away. His eyes slowly closed. Small Pink Flipper-Fish sobbed in despair. 

"Keith, I love you! You are my hero! I'll never forget you. My true friend." 

These were the last words Keith heard as he drifted off into a sleep from which he would not wake up. 

He was a hero. 

He was loved. 

He was a true friend. 

He was not lonely any more. 

"No-one has greater love than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends." 

John 15:13 NRSV

The thunder of great waters

I did a little musing as I sat on a railing watching the sea do its thing back in the middle of summer when there was time for sitting on railings and watching the sea.

The tide was in, and there was a strong breeze that gave the waves white tops and blew spray at me from time to time. The sun was in and out from behind fluffy clouds and there was nobody else about.

Dear God,

The sea is like you.

It is eternal. Always there, never stopping, never still. It never rests, never sleeps. Shifting, multi-faceted, unpredictable, wild and untameable. Breathtakingly beautiful in all its moods, whatever the weather. That beauty is a complex mixture of light and shade, a million colours; shimmering, sparkling.

It engages all the senses - the blue, the green, the sunlight and reflected sky, the sound of crashing, thundering - and the soft and reassuring sound of surf on shingle.

I sit with my eyes closed and feel cool spray on my face; I swam and was embraced by its silky coolness, lifted off my feet by the swell.

I taste salt on my lips and inhale the fragrance that you only find at the seaside: freshness, brine, the smell of open space and freedom. I find that I breathe more deeply at the seaside in moments like this, luxuriating in solitude; just me and the vastness of you.

There is another sense that the sea touches, for me; the thing inside me that longs for you; the thing that is more than imagination, that comes from the deepest part of me.

My soul reaches for you, because you seem more tangible to me at the seaside.

I watch the ocean and see my God.

The sea is relentless and powerful. You cannot keep it out, you cannot keep it in. It will go where it will. The sea demonstrated its power when the tidal surges engulfed our coast a few months ago; I have seen the destruction left behind. The strongest man-made structures - concrete, iron bars as thick as my wrist, bent and broken like matchsticks, and discarded with the next wave. Flooding, overcoming defences, washing away things that we cling to.

The fury of the sea in a storm; deafening and intimidating. Restless, ruthless, threatening...and yet. that same sea reflecting a cloudless blue sky, soothing and welcoming, splashing on sand and shells, gently caressing my daughters' feet as they play at its edges.

Glory and majesty - the sea reflects the sunrise and the sunset, the beginning and the end, and will still be there, churning, shifting, waiting for the next day. It was made on the second day and will be there on the last. What are we, in comparison?

"Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea, or walked in the recesses of the deep?"   Job 38:16

The sea shows us our smallness, our frailness. It allows us to interact with it in a small way; it gives up some of its treasures and allows us to form a relationship with it but it demands respect. It gives life and sustains life and can take it away in a moment. We try to harness it, to subdue it for our own ends, but it will only allow us so far. We hover at its edges, gazing awe-struck into its depths, and it is pleased to show us some of its wonders, but we are never in control.

It has hidden depths that we cannot imagine.

Underwater mountain ranges that we have never seen. We don't know how deep it is - it is unfathomable. We cannot draw maps or chart the seabed. We are too small, too weak; our most impressive technology falls short of something so primeval.

We see the surface, and the things it permits us to explore, but it leaves us in no doubt that we are quickly out of our depth. There are things impenetrable, places we can't go, experiences we'll never have, whole ecosystems that we know nothing about, creatures never seen, photographs that will never be taken.

A mystery. Pre-historic, vast, sheltering, nurturing, secretive.

We are so small. We make mistakes; whole aeroplanes are swallowed without a trace in the depths. We are reminded of our fragility, and it's power.

Endless contrasts. I held in my hand the tiniest of crabs from a rock pool, a starfish. The seas are home to countless microorganisms too small for us to see - and then huge and powerful creatures like whales and sharks, seals and fish too large to land in a fishing boat. The delicate and the vast. Floating, mystical jellyfish, shoals of translucent fish, and predators with row upon row of lethal teeth. Things that we eat, things that would eat us. All life is here, and death, too.

"There is the sea, vast and spacious, teeming with creatures beyond number, living things both large and small." Psalm 104:25

Dangerous, yet healing. The sea helps to heal wounds, sterile and soothing. Life-giving, life threatening. Hidden currents, lurking dangers play alongside soft surf and exhilarating swell. It supports us, keeping our boats afloat and our bodies buoyant.  Full of joy and fun, beauty and possibility, yet we misjudge it at our peril.

"You rule over the surging sea; when its waves mount up, you still them." Psalm 89:9

Only Jesus had authority over the sea. There has only ever been one man who was unafraid, who spoke to the waves and they obeyed him.

I sit here and lift the camera to my eye and realise that the sea cannot be captured.

No wonder that throughout history we have been fascinated by it. We have tried to copy it, to halt it, to pin it down on canvas or film, to recreate it to take away for those of us who live inland, but we cannot, for no sooner have we frozen a moment in time, than that moment is gone and the sea is completely different.

It is only now. It was, it will be, but it is always the present. No two waves are alike. They each hit the seawall differently, throw different fountains of spray. There is no pattern, no predictability. It does its own thing, regardless of time, of me, of everyone.

There is so much to see. It whispers, shouts - booms an insistent invitation to tiptoe at the edges, come a little deeper, discover something new, dive in, explore, immerse yourself.  Be brave, get used to the coolness, the movement; enjoy the ride. Know who you are, and who the sea is; don't forget. Don't take it for granted, have respect, but come and enjoy.

Be washed clean. Be lifted off your feet.

Inspiration is here. Beauty is here. Refreshment, restoration, healing, strength are to be found here.

There is no barrier that you cannot break down,
There is no space you can't flood,
No door can keep you out,
No defences you can't breach.

"Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea - the Lord on high is mighty." Psalm 93:4

You are here.

A gentle bump

So here I am again after a long break.

Busyness, holidays, minor illnesses, small emergencies, life events, daily distractions: the sort of time-consuming hamster-wheel kind of family life that consumes all in its path.  Not all bad things, not all good things, just things. For someone like me, who needs periods of space and solitude in order to function properly, the summer is a stressful time too full of people and activity, even though they might be my favourite people in the whole world, and much of the activity is stuff I've been looking forward to for months. It's exhausting and non-stop.

There have been times when I thought my head might explode.

You'd think I'd need the peace that only God provides even more than in my normal term-time routine, where I build in periods of withdrawal where I can, wouldn't you? Well you'd be right. I  need Him more than ever.

Funny that I seem to lose my grip on Him at the very time I need Him the most. It happened last year, and probably the ones before that as well. I get stressed and overwhelmed and instead of clinging more tightly, I let go and drift off. I'm the first to admit that it makes no sense.

Even the odd time I have had where I could have slunk off with my journal to find a little oasis of the kind of peace that only He gives, I've found myself reading paperbacks, checking social media or frittering away precious moments of peace on trivia.

Then this thing happened.

On holiday at the seaside. I had been in the sea with my husband, swimming back and forth, enjoying the waves, the sparkle of the sun, the cool of the water, the warmth on my back, and I'd just decided to get out and join Grandma and the girls on the beach. I wasn't in deep water; I put my legs down on the sand and stood; it was about chest level. Something bumped into my leg. Gently, but a definite bump. Not like seaweed, which would have made me yelp, given my irrational fear of seaweed, but I thought, maybe a fish? Sharks are pretty rare off the north Norfolk coast, I believe.

I began to wade back up the gently shelving beach, towards my youngest daughter who was happily hopping about in the surf. As I turned to let my husband know I was heading in, there between us was a Grey Seal. It looked right at me, turned, and looked right at him. We watched it for a long moment, before it dived back underwater and swam off, resurfacing occasionally to have another look round.

What about that?

On my way up the beach I found my oldest daughter squatting over a rock pool near the beach groyne that leads down into the sea. She'd found a little starfish. A few paces later and there was a feather on an untouched area of sand. A perfect grey and white flight feather.

As I stood on the beach on that beautiful warm summer day, blue sky, shimmering sea, soft sand, surrounded by my family, all (at that moment) content and occupied, I had one of those the penny-drops moments.

A seal, a starfish, a feather.

God keeps on giving, even when I'm not receiving. He goes on laying His gifts in front of me, even when I'm not looking out for them. His generosity does not depend on my willingness to receive, any more than it depends on my behaviour, whether I've earned it.

He just keeps on giving.

It blew my mind.

How pleased God must be when we do notice something, and stop what we're doing to smile and marvel and thank Him for the little bit of loveliness He has placed in our path. For years now I've prayed for eyes to see and ears to hear, and I know that God has answered that prayer, but I now realise that I have the ability to turn it off, as well. It's hard to fathom, but I can choose to be blind, and deaf, and ungrateful. I must miss so much.

But there's more, too. God never stops giving, and He never stops loving, either.

He just keeps on loving me.

You know that old thing that we've heard, 'There's nothing that you can do to make God love you more, and nothing that you can do to can make Him love you less'?  Well, it suddenly made sense.

I do things that pull me away from God all the time. It might not be a huge great sin that I commit that lands me in the lowest place possible, knowing me, it's more likely that it's a slow drift that takes me away from His side, just like the insidious little currents that slowly and imperceptibly pull you away from the shoreline if you swim out too far.

And yet, His love for me doesn't change. Not one bit. He still loves me enough to lay beauty in my path just to make me smile.

Then the third thing in this trilogy of personal revelations: He doesn't want my guilt.

He just wants me.

God waits patiently for me to remember who He is, who I am, and to look up into His face once again. He is there, where He's always been, waiting for me to come back. And when I do, He holds out His hand for me to take and He is just pleased to see me.

No recriminations. No stern talking to. No rehashing of my failings, no comment on how long I've kept Him waiting or how many of His treasures I missed. No ground to make up. Just pleasure that I'm back.

My daughters are at that age when quite often one of them stalks off on their own if we've had a confrontation or I've failed to live up to expectations in some way. When they come back our relations are sometimes strained for a while. Hurt feelings on both sides, ruffled feathers. It would be unwise for one of them to ask me for something at a time like this, when I'm feeling raw or annoyed. Grumpy and disinclined to co-operate. We need soothing words and a period of reconciliation.

Not so with God. He throws open His arms and welcomes us while we are still far away.

I am not in disgrace. I don't have to work my way back into His good books. No probationary period.

How He loves me.

So I stood there on the beach, looking at my daughters happily jumping in the waves, my husband relaxing in the sea, my Mum watching us all from a deckchair with a smile, and I realised that my Heavenly Father loves me so much that He keeps giving me gifts, even when I'm miles away from Him.  And on top of all that, He's so tender when He reaches down to touch me. Like the grey seal - a gentle bump.

And that night I intended to get some of this down in my journal and spend some time thanking Him for this amazing generosity, but it didn't happen. I was busy, distracted; believe it or not, my mind was once again elsewhere. It turns out that I am capable of turning away even after such precious and loving insights.

Days later I opened the devotional that I'm reading (intermittently) and found this:

"Gently bring your attention back to me, whenever it wanders away. I look for persistence, rather than perfection, in your walk with Me.  I not only accept you as you are, I love you as you are...You can easily fall prey to self-rejection if you have unrealistic expectations of yourself. I want you to bring your focus back to Me gently, without judging yourself... I always welcome you back with unfailing love." *

He doesn't want my guilt. He doesn't want me to waste time and energy berating myself for having the attention span of a begonia. He doesn't want me to feel bad that I let Him down. He just wants me to try again.

He waits, and welcomes, and keeps on loving.

Father God, thank you for your unfailing love. Love that keeps no record of wrongs, holds no grudges. Love that never changes.

Thank you that you know me better than I know myself, and yet you love me still. I want to stay close to you. I want to see and hear all that you have for me; I don't want to miss a thing, and yet I am easily distracted.

Help me to bring my attention back to you and place my hand once again in yours. Thank you that you are always there waiting for me.

Amen.

Reference: 

*Dear Jesus, Sarah Young, 2007, Thomas Nelson

Sun, sea, sand ... and seaweed

Evening, God.

From where I'm sitting, I can see a very special part of your handiwork.  I can look out of the window of the cottage that we're renting for the week and I can see the sea. Silvery, calm, shimmering - tide in at the moment so the sandy beach where we sat earlier is lost beneath the gentle waves splashing on the breakwater. 

I love the sea.

It's very beautiful. I love the sea. I think I've said that several times before, but I know you don't mind. I'll keep going on about it. 

Something inside me expands when I get to spend time at the seaside. I love the sound of the sea, the way the sunlight sparkles when it catches the waves, the rhythm of it; the way sometimes you can count the waves and predict which one will be the big one when the tide is coming in.  

I love rock pools and the little treasures that my husband can unearth for the children and I love that he can spend hours stooped over little pools and turning over rocks to reveal hidden creatures. 

I love the way the timber of the breakwaters have weathered in the relentless sun and wind and sea. I love the way that there are stones jammed between them so tightly that they can't be dislodged, but the might of the sea threw them there carelessly. 

I love pebbles and the sshhh of shingle and the way that I sink in the fine sand and become off balance when I stand in the surf and watch a wave receding. 

I love the excitement on my daughters' faces when they see the sea for the first time and their impatience to get down to the beach. I love that this year they are fearless and happy to wade into the sea until they can barely touch the bottom and then swim instead of just hopping over the breakers as they have in previous years. 

Off to the beach!

I love that, because it's something that I can't do. 

I love almost everything about the sea. 

I love the sea very much, but I've never been in it. At least, I've never been deeper than my knees, and then, being British and only ever having been in the sea around our shores, it's with great trepidation. 

I'm afraid of seaweed. 

Don't laugh. 

I know you weren't laughing. Does it upset you, that I hate seaweed? That I can paddle in the shallows with my trouser-legs rolled up but I need to be watchful about where I tread in case some of the wretched stuff ends up on my foot? Today there was lovely clear sea about ten feet beyond the shoreline, but alas, I couldn't reach it because there was an inordinate amount of fine, bright green, frondy seaweed between me and it. Not even the thick bladderwrack stuff that coats the groynes and the legs of the pier but the fine, fluffy stuff - I hate all of it. The stray bits that are carried about on the tide are the worst. They might wrap themselves around me. 

Ugh.

I have no idea where this phobia came from, but it is a phobia. My heart beats faster, I feel panicky. I can't tell if I've always been afraid of seaweed or whether there was a point at which it all went wrong. Can you? 

Was there an incident that traumatised me? I'm quite sure that my brother waved it at me when I was small, but whose brother didn't? Why would that leave me so terrified of it?  I envied the girls today as they swam and splashed and laughed and I envied their Daddy his opportunity to share the joy with them. 

I sat high up on the beach and doled out drinks and towels and collected pebbles. 

I had a dream when I was much younger. It's not exactly a recurrent dream, but one that I've had a few times with the odd modification over the years. I'm in a series of caves at the seaside. Each one has steep sides and leads into another. Each cave is about thigh deep with water, and there are three in a row, then beautiful open sea. I can see the sunshine sparkling off the waves and the sea is clear and pure and I'm longing to swim there. The only way there is through these three caves.  I step barefoot into the water in the first cave. 

It's full of fish. So full that the water is dark and heaving with them. It's dark with flashing scales and I have to force my legs through them. It's really horrid to walk through all these fish slithering against me and I keep stumbling as I tread on one and then I'm afraid because I don't want to fall over. I manage to get to the end of the cave and there's the next one. This cave is full of muddy water. It stinks. It's like a swamp. Under the surface of the mud there are who knows what kind of creatures crawling and biting and stinging, and the mud smells terrible. Mosquitoes are buzzing round and there are strange unexplained ripples that frighten me. I wade as fast as I can to the end of the cave and climb with great relief onto the rocks that divide this cave from the last. 

The last cave is the only thing that separates me from the beautiful, crystal clear ocean beyond. There are white waves breaking onto a pale sandy beach and wonderful coral formations with brightly coloured fish. It looks so inviting. 

The last cave is full of seaweed. All kinds.  Squelchy stuff, frondy stuff, mossy stuff and slimy stuff.  It's a long pool full of seawater and seaweed. 

I just can't do it. 

I managed the other caves full of slimy fish and all manner of creepy crawlies, but I can't do seaweed.  The wonders of the clean, tropical ocean beyond are not for me. I'm defeated. 

I turn back. 

Looking for a smiley pebble.

This dream stayed with me. I have no idea if it means anything (other than a demonstration of the horrors my childish imagination could come up with and the limits of my courage) but it is as clear in my head now in my forties as it was then, when I was just a child. 

I live in Derbyshire. Of all parts of the UK, Derbyshire is probably the best place to be if one has a seaweed phobia. Derbyshire is furthest inland of all counties in Britain. It's not a particularly large island, as islands go, but if you wanted to get as far as possible away from the sea, Derbyshire's the place. I don't come across seaweed that often, though at our old house we inherited a pond which regularly became overgrown with weed; my husband dealt with all that. Oh yes. Not me. If I had a phobia about open spaces, or closed-in spaces, or spiders, or trees or something it would impact my life much more and I'd have to do something about it, but seaweed?  Fairly easy to live with.  Easy to avoid.

There are echoes, sometimes. For instance, if anyone has dropped a tissue in the wet area of the changing rooms at the swimming pool, then I am anxious about going near. I would absolutely hate to tread on it. If it became fastened round my foot I would be beside myself. I hate putting my hand into washing up water with lots of floaty bits of food in it. I have to steel myself to clear out the drain in the shower if it gets clogged and have been known to throw up after doing it. 

I cannot make papier mache. Oh no. Wet bits of paper stuck to me? No thanks. 

My brave Elizabeth.

So, I hate seaweed, I live inland, but I love the sea. I love it with a passion. It recharges my batteries and I live off the experience for a long time afterwards. I have set as my aim that I will make the effort to see the sea at least once every year, because I feel especially close to you at the seaside. I gaze at the ocean and I see you. 

I see your power, your vastness, your unchanging nature. I see your majesty, your beauty, your relentlessness.  You cannot be contained. You have many faces; still, tame, calm, soothing - or fierce, thundering, awe-inspiring. I love to see the fishing boats, I love to spend time on the beach, I love to take photos. 

Swimming? No thanks. I'll watch. 

There are other reasons I don't go in the sea. The usual ones about being too self conscious in a swimsuit or even shorts. I didn't even pack any shorts for me this holiday, let alone a swimsuit. Elizabeth looked at me quizzically and asked why I wasn't coming for a swim and I didn't know what to say as I don't want to introduce the ridiculous idea that someone might be afraid of seaweed, and nor do I want to admit that I am so crippled by my body image that I couldn't bring myself to get my legs out in front of strangers. Dilemma. The moment passed. She swam and sang with joy. I paddled gingerly in the foam at the waters' edge and took photographs. 

Wel, Lord, when I started this I had no idea that I was going to get all that off my chest. My seaweed phobia is just an inbuilt part of me. I reckon that if I needed to wade through it to save one of my girls' lives, I wouldn't just stand there wistfully looking at the open water beyond; or at least I hope I wouldn't. It's just one of the many flies in the ointment of life for me. I adore the sea, but I can't go in it. 

How beautiful is that?

I don't know where I'm heading with this. I wouldn't dare to ask you for healing in case you need me to do something brave to conquer my fear. I don't want to have to be brave. I'd quite like to understand where the fear came from, but not if it requires me to face it in any dramatic way. I'd quite like to be out there laughing and swimming with my family but I can't do it so I'll let my husband have this special thing with the girls. Let it go, hey.

I didn't mean to get all maudlin. I am loving our holiday by the sea. While I've been here chatting to you it's gone dark and the sea is now an inky black invisibleness with a myriad of lights where there are ships out there. I can hear the waves on the breakwater and I can see the lighthouse winking far up the coast. Tomorrow we're off to the beach again and I'll make a good sandcastle and I'll lie on the rug and dig my toes in the sand and then go and walk carefully along the shoreline in the shallow water. I'll take lots of photos of my girls as they grow up because in the blink of an eye they won't want buckets and spades any more. I'll have to bring them for me. 

I'm going to find a pebble with a smile. Every year I find a pebble with a smile and when I get home I add eyes and a nose and I label it with the date and location of our holiday. My pebbles cheer me up all year round.

I want to make the most of this holiday. I'm needing a top-up. 

A top-up of sun, sand, sea - and you, Lord God, who made it all. 

Even the seaweed. Though I can't for the life of me understand why...

Music in the waves

I love the sea. Here we are at the seaside in Suffolk for Mum's 80th birthday weekend and I can see the sea from the hotel window. We've walked along the beach, had fish and chips on the seafront and it's just lovely.  There can be nothing finer in this life, I think, than sitting on a bench at the seaside with your family in the sun eating fish and chips with one of those pointless little wooden forks and throwing bits to the seagulls who can catch a chip in mid air!  How clever is that.

It's been a beautiful day. The roads have been pretty clear, we stopped somewhere lovely for lunch, the children have been patient and good natured in the car (mostly) and the rooms are amazing. You've looked after us today. Thankyou. 


Charles Spurgeon said:

'The old saying is, 'Go from nature up to Nature's God'; but it is hard working up hill.  The best thing is to go from nature's God down to nature; and if you once get to nature's God, and believe Him, and love Him, it is surprising how easy it is to hear music in the waves, and songs in the wild whisperings of the winds; to see God everywhere, in the stones, in the rocks, in the rippling brooks, and hear him everywere in the lowing of cattle, in the rolling of thunder and the fury of tempests.' 

I love the sea, and as I stood there looking at it earlier today I thought of this passage. I always look at the sea and see you, Lord. Maybe it's the vastness, the majesty, the breadth of it; or maybe the depth, the power and the beauty of it.  The way it's ever changing, never the same. Nothing can contain it. It has always been since the day you brought it about, and always will be. It cannot be destroyed, cannot be controlled. It nurtures and it destroys.  It is frightening and beautiful, stirring and soothing. The way it reflects the sunset is a symphony of nature that shows us here on earth a tiny hint of the awe-inspiring wonder of you. Another glimpse.

I love the clearness of the air by the sea, the sound of the waves and the smell of it all.  I love the sea birds and sand and pebbles. I love the way the breakwaters recede into the sea and the beautiful silver texture of the weathered wood. I love the shelving of the sand to the water's edge and I love rockpools full of treasure.  I love sandcastles and buckets and spades and those tiny little flags that you stick in the top. I love the joy on my girls' faces as they find a 'special' pebble or a shell or some small wary creature.

There you are in the stones and rocks on the beach, in the music and rhythm of the waves, in the calling of the birds. It is easy to see you indeed. I love it by the sea. It wakes up a part of me that is sleepy most of the time - the bit of me that fills my lungs with you, breathing in your spirit in long breaths.  The part of me that feasts my senses on you, that can't find words so just smiles and gazes and inhales and listens intently.

This is just what I need. You knew that. I was wondering if I could possibly put aside the rubbish of the last few days and enjoy this weekend at all but I feel blessed to be here, and so grateful that you gave us all these things to enjoy. I'm seeing them all again. It's a breath of fresh air indeed.  You know everything that I have on my plate, Father, because I've laid it all in front of you; I can't process it or analyse it or make any sense of it. So I've just dumped it with you - Katy's lump and hospital appointments and mine as well. You hold all things in your hand. You know me inside and out and have done since before I came to be. You know every word on my tongue before I say it. I cannot hide from you. No point in trying.

As it says in one of my favourite songs:

'I will praise the rock of my salvation
 - all my days are in his faithful hands.'

So I leave it all with you, faithful Lord. Thankyou for this weekend by the sea. You know what the week ahead has in store but I don't want to know right now. Maybe it's nothing and this time next week my mind will be on trivia again; or maybe it's something, and then who knows how I'll be but you? Either way, for now, I'm looking out of the window at the beautiful mysterious dark band of the sea at the end of the street, listening to the quiet as the children have finally settled down and looking forward to  the morning when we'll go looking for 'special' pebbles again.

I have a tradition that whenever we come to the seaside as a family, I find a pebble from the beach that has markings on it that make it look as if it's smiling. Then I draw eyes and a nose on it and label it with the place and the year, and it sits on the bookcase at home to remind me. I don't think I'll have a problem finding one this weekend as all the pebbles are smiling.  And so am I.