Everyday Encounter with God

EVERYDAY ENCOUNTER WITH GOD

Pastor Sylvia's Enconters with God in the Midst of Everyday Life

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A weekly column that is short, pithy and relevant. It deals with Pastor Sylvia's encounters with God in the midst of everyday life.

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Beachcombing in Lent

Husband has offered me a short vacation in one of my favorite places on earth. He knows that when the weather transitions from winter’s cold to the unpredictability of spring, homesickness always takes me over. We are planning a trip to Bandon!

Growing up on the Oregon Coast, our rain squalls were drenching and cold. The snippets of sunshine were glorious, though brief. And it wasn’t unusual for both to occur several times in the same day. This wouldn’t have been bad if my parents liked board games. They didn’t. We were “beachcombers.”

Saturday mornings my family crammed into our 1949 Willy’s Jeep, 4-wheel-drive station wagon with the mismatching-colored doors, and we were off.

Mom always anticipated dry weather when planning the menu. Hotdogs to roast. S’Mores to toast. Crisp, fresh potato chips to crunch while we walked in the sand. And a large ice cold thermos of the “orange drink preferred by astronauts.” (Tang, yum!) Unfortunately, the weather was never dry.

We drove through Bandon and meandered out Seven Devils Road until we reached the sand. Our favorite destination was Agate Beach because we had to cross a farmer’s field to get there. This required money, and for some reason was a source of fascination week after week.

At the entrance to his self-constructed easement stood the owner’s dilapidated stool holding a bucket and a handmade sign. $1 Dollar 2 Cross. Our debate never faltered.

“Dad, what if we only left fifty cents?”

“Then we could only go halfway across.”

“If we were related, would we still have to pay?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Could we leave cookies instead?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

Then with false bravado, Dad always threw four quarters in the bucket, shoved the gears into drive, and headed straight onto the beach, a bold and risky endeavor in the soft and blowing sand.

“What if we get stuck?”

“Then we’ll have to dig ourselves out.”

“What if the tide comes in first?”

“Then we’ll probably have to walk home.”

We never did get stuck, and for the remainder of the day we always had the beach all to ourselves. The wind blew behind us, then in front, then from either side. We didn’t care. There were valuable things to be found: jasper, agates, Japanese glass floats, and beautiful shells.

No one complained about soaking cold rain, soggy hotdog buns, mushy potato chips and the likelihood that we would find nothing at all of great value. I think I understand why.

Adventure.

There was always the possibility of finding a treasure: a bottle stuffed with an authentic message, or a pirate’s treasure that had washed in from the sea. And there was also the possibility of great disaster: the jeep getting stuck, losing a hat. Our trips to the beach were fraught with exciting possibilities, both good and bad.

Now that we are heading towards Easter, I see a little of our beachcombing adventures in the Passion Story. Jerusalem during Passover that year was also fraught with possibilities—both good and bad, although the consequences were much more serious.

When they “drove onto the beach,” the worst outcome imaginable did happen. Jesus, their vehicle got stuck in the sand. And he didn’t even try to dig his way out. The unmerciful tide of public opinion swept him out to sea, leaving his friends without the slightest idea how to get home. By the time the disciples left town, everything had gone tragically wrong.

But like all really great adventure stories, everything tainted by despair took an unpredictable turn. The stone was rolled away. Jesus lived. He showed them the way, just like he’d promised. And the farmer threw away his bucket, announcing, “Everyone who believes is welcome here. We are family now.”

The death and resurrection of Jesus is a vivid reminder to us all—don’t close the book too early. Stay longer. The possibility of disaster is nothing compared to our Savior’s assurance that when we put our trust in him, our personal stories won’t end in defeat.

There really is a treasure.

I can hardly wait to visit Bandon again this year. I wonder if it will rain…

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