Through the Eyes of a Friend, We See Clearly

My friend Patti came in through the porch screen door the other day, eyes brimming with tears, but smiling as she brought me updates about a special sight she was witnessing from the porch. It was early morning, too early for most people, and we were on the third floor of a condo in Mexico, a favorite annual getaway vacation for “the almost golden girls.” Her morning ritual of devotions and prayer time on the porch, alone, had been interrupted, gently, by the vision of something so beautiful she couldn’t just let it go unnoted.

She’d come in three times already with updates and a sense of true wonder, as she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The first description provided a clue. She said she’d seen a big burly guy walking along holding the hands of his tiny daughter, who appeared not to be even two years old, walking along the mostly deserted beach. It was still so early in the morning that most tourists had not yet found their way down. I was up at this hour, working on a rush project on my so-called vacation, without even my first cup of coffee nearby.

The first thing Patti noticed was how big and strong the man was. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt and dew rag around his head. She thought he looked more like an offensive tackle for the Chicago Bears than a dad. Her second report noted she understood once again how God was at work in her life, as well as that of the family below her.

As the daughter had been previously been exploring the beach, she was tentative, amazed and awed by the waves, but a little fearful. The dad walked behind her, closely, without her even noticing his shadow. Once a wave came along the far part of the shore, gentle to an adult, it was overpowering to the child, who was navigating the path for the first time. The third report was even more powerful.

In an instant, the youngster had been knocked over by the gentle wave, but before you could count to “3,” her father had scooped her up and restored her to her previous balance, and they continued along their path together. No tears, just restored confidence. The next time another big wave came along, the father had both of his daughter’s hands in his, and he lifted her feet high above the waves as they came crashing into shore.

The delight on the child’s face was equaled only by her trust that her dad had her safely in his grasp and sight. Patti returned inside of the condo. ”I’ve just seen the Father at work, this is exactly what God does,” as she described the next leg of the child’s journey. Finally, I grabbed my camera and went outside to see what she was talking about. And it was at that point that I was truly moved. It was a living picture of the parable about “one set of footprints in the sand.”

Though the sun had not yet broken through the fog-laden morning sky, the view was unmistakable. The father was now cradling his daughter in his arms. She had one little arm that was wrapped around one side of his neck, and her right arm sealed her connection to her dad across his chest.

Unhurried, the father walked up and down the same stretch of beach, as the sounds of the waves gently lulled his daughter to sleep. After the fourth lap of the journey, they settled atop a chaise lounge under the shade of a palapa, still alone, without disturbing the daughter’s slumber. I, too, was watching...my friend Patti grew more amazed with each vista of what she was able to see, being played out through the trust, love, and gentleness of a daughter resting in the arms of a loving father.

As he cradled his daughter, the vision of the once gentle giant had given way to a sight that Patti could not have been more accurate in describing: The Father at work. “Isn’t that just what Jesus does?” she exclaimed? He’s always there behind you or beside you to rescue you, and when you cannot travel the path alone, he holds your hands and lifts you above the waves and protects you from the harm that you’re not even aware of.” She was right.

The fifth and final report was another special scene….the child’s mother had awakened from a precious few moments’ nap inside their condo and joined her family under the palapa on the lounge chair adjacent to her husband. With his left hand securing his daughter atop his broad chest, he gently reached out for his wife’s left hand with his right hand.

Once their hands were joined, there were no footprints in the sand….that you could see…but that’s because all three in the family were being held in sight by a quiet soul who said a prayer for them, three floors above, unnoticed. How many people pray for us whom we neither know, nor see, during the course of a day? How many times do we pray for those whom we do not know? Makes you want to do that more frequently as a result of one simple parable come to life.

And, at last my early morning brain was freed from a focus on crunching through my latest checklist of due dates and must-do’s to pause and remember the one set of footprints in the sand. It was when I, too, was being carried. The Lord is everywhere with us in our daily journey, if only we’ll get up from the desk to see it and listen to friends who try and bring us closer to Him.

~~ June, 2011