Mark and I are celebrating our 16th anniversary at our favorite beach spot. We’ve spent three days being lazy, digging our toes in the sand, soaking in the sun, sipping drinks that led to afternoon naps under the umbrella.

The second afternoon turned partly cloudy. Still we sat and listened to the gentle waves crash softly on the beach. I decided I’d look for three seashells so I could create a project representing our children when I returned home.

I treaded slowly into the cool water until it reached my ankles. I turned and bent over, searching for shells. I realized I’d have to go a little deeper as the waves were lapping too quickly for me to see the floor. I moved to where the water met my knees, and again turned, bending to find my little treasures.

Since we left the kids at home, we didn’t bring any of our beach toys, including the net. I began to look for shells, thinking I’d see what I wanted and simply reach to pick it up. But the tide pulled the sand out much too quickly. Anything I spotted was gone before I could grasp it.

I began to grab sand by the handfuls. I’d let it slip between my fingers as I watched to see if there remained any shells worth keeping. Mostly, there were broken pieces. But after numerous grabs, and filtered grit, I found what I wanted…small, medium and large shells to represent our girls.

Just after finding my shells, I watched two little boys carry a net into the water in an attempt to catch fish. They were clumsy and completely unskilled. I thought about Simon Peter, the fisherman…how he first met Jesus. He told Simon {soon to be named Peter} to let down his nets. Simon had been fishing all night to no avail, and told Jesus so. Still, he let down his nets, and they were filled to capacity with fish. He left his day job to follow Jesus.

After Peter denied Jesus three times, and Jesus had died, he returned to fishing. He spent a night fishing, once again, to no avail. As dawn broke, Jesus was standing on the beach. He asked if he’d caught anything, to which Peter replied negatively. Jesus told him to cast the nets over the side of the boat, and they were immediately filled so that the nets were too heavy to pull in.

Jesus announced Himself to Peter the same way He’d introduced Himself. He used what Peter knew to draw him to Himself in the beginning. Then, when Peter had given up on Jesus and himself, Jesus once again used what Peter knew to offer grace and mercy.

As our day drew to a close, we gathered our beach belongings and headed to shower off the sand. The clouds had gathered to hide the sun, so the white sand was cool to our feet. However, as we neared the narrow, wooden pathway, the sand was a dirty, darker color, and it still held some heat from earlier in the day. It felt warm on our feet.

I compared the sand to people. Those who’ve never been guilty of causing their own pain are often like the white sand: clean, yet cool. There’s often a certain lack of empathy. However, those who’ve traveled down their own dirty paths often come away with a warmth…a tenderness and an understanding that only comes from the grit through which they’ve walked.

. . . . .

Good things came…ideas, dreams, hopes planted inside of me. I began to wade into them, one step at a time. I stopped only to realize I’d have to wade a little deeper. I did so hesitantly. And I began to reach for them…for what was in my line of sight. I figured out I’d have to bend low to grab the blessings, first sifting through the grit and broken. I’d have to watch some of them fall through my fingers, risking letting go of what I held precious to find what I treasured.

Now, I watch as they dangle by a thread, unfortunately, over which I have absolutely no control. I literally feel as if my hopes, dreams, ideas and plans are in the hands of one who doesn’t know their value. And I fully expect the thread to break {or be cut}, at which point, they all will crash around me.

Anne Lamott tells a story in Traveling Mercies about a woman on a train complaining to her seatmate about everything that had gone wrong on her trip.

It turned out that this man worked for the Dalai Lama. And he said–gently–that they believe when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born–and that this something needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible.

That idea doesn’t seem far-fetched to me as God has continually reminded me over the past year that His plans are bigger than me, than mine. For the life of me, though, I can’t imagine what; and in the meantime, my heart is breaking from disappointment.

You see, I traveled the dirty path seven years ago. Though I wish it weren’t so, there’s hardly a day goes by that I’m not aware of the path I chose. As if that’s not enough, the very path that eventually allowed light and warmth into my heart is now the one used to accuse me…to leave me empty-handed of my dreams and hopes.

Still, God uses what I know and love to draw me…words and music, just as He’s always done. There’s something bittersweet about music and words right now. I want to give up, to leave them…yet I can’t. I feel like Peter fishing all night, and I’m waiting on dawn…for Jesus to speak the words that lead to fullness…to blessing.