Bread and Fish

I love to go to the beach. The sand, the waves, the sun, the salty air. Walking on the beach and finding treasures! The peace that washes in and over me with every wave. Ahhhhhh! My kind of vacation.

Someday, I might buy a little house in a small town within driving distance of the beach. Nothing fancy because I couldn’t afford it and it wouldn’t feel right to me anyway. Just a cottage big enough for me and a dog and maybe a cat. Cozy enough to comfort me when I am alone. Always welcoming to neighbors and friends. A beloved destination for those I hold dearest. A place to breathe and dream.

Maybe someday I’ll have my breakfast by the sea. Someday, when I am discouraged, knowing all is lost, I’ll put out in my little boat to find what I have always been searching for, without hope of actually finding it, not knowing what else to do. Maybe I’ll hear a stranger calling to me from the shore, telling me to do the opposite of what I set out to do. I won’t recognize the person or the voice but I’ll do as he says because what I’ve been doing has gotten me nowhere.

Then, someone will recognize the stranger as the One I have always known but mostly strayed away from, always wanting to go my own way, do what I want when I want and how. I will finally understand and be the most amazed old lady to ever walk the earth when I see the abundance of life I have now, when earlier that day I believed all was lost.

I will turn my boat to shore and find him there, with my breakfast already prepared. He invites me to share some of what he helped me catch. We dine together, bread and fish, his and mine.

Amen and amen.

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