Going Home


Dear Eugene,

Yesterday I took a long bus ride, a Sabbath route new to me, to rest in the familiar bosom of Jesus.

I ended up at the edge of water.

The weather was good, everybody came out to play.  There was only one narrow street going along the seaside, on it a congested parade of beautiful people stuck in their beautiful cars going nowhere.  Apparently they still looked happy to have arrived, even before setting foot on the promised land.

I went there to be alone and was not disappointed.  When you are on the beach no one bothers you, especially when you are looking down.  I try to pick one pebble to take home every time I go to a beach, a special enough chosen one.

There was a time when my son was really into rocks and minerals.  A visit to our local gems store was a real treat then.  He chose a field guide on the topic from an independent book store not too far from where I was yesterday not too many years ago and I remember it was $12.99.  I think he can still identify rocks better than I do.

But then, as life often goes, slowly and surely he grew up and grew out of it, into something more introspective, to seek among his innards and no longer search along the inlets.

Will there be a day when he'd look up and look out again to grow down from where he is, back into looking at rocks?

I worry that day won't come.

From my angle I can see most people don't grow back to where they've once found themselves, naked and helpless, sustained by grace alone--maybe not acknowledging it, but at least not denying it.

I looked up from the beach and the parade was now more congested still.  The shine bounced off the beautiful cars hurt my eyes and now I couldn't see if the people in them were still beautiful and happy.

I enjoyed the bus ride back home.

Earlier on my way to the beach I was anxious, even though the path was straight and Google Map affirmed me.  The ride was long and then it simply got too long for my eagerness.  I've seen beautiful things along the way but was too worried to care.

I was more at ease going home.

A pebble doesn't show its true beauty until it is baptized by a sheen of water and shine of light.  Things hidden, things deep within, layers of story will then be spoken for.

Yours, Alex

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