In passing (2)

Come there with me for a while; walk that strand with me if you can, and think on the unexpected ways the Spirit may have of reaching into your own life and of stirring the awareness that already exists within you.

Deep pocketed hands, and chin tucked beneath an upturned collar while keeping only a half-view ahead beyond the edge of a sheltering hood. Cold, grey and lifeless hours. Squalls of rain lashing by every few minutes, blending with salt lifted from the foaming seas. The sort of day that leads to the question, ‘Am I really enjoying this or do I only think I am ?’
I had the whole world to myself and walked on, in a sense, scarcely knowing that even I was there, when I suddenly became aware of somebody else. There, perhaps quarter of a mile away, was a figure walking towards me. Feelings of annoyance at once began to build within me. Why did he have to be here now? Why couldn't he at least be taking a different line along the sand instead of heading straight towards me?
I was not naturally inclined to give this stranger the benefit of the doubt, and as the distance between us decreased, I was filled with apprehension; he might be the wrong sort of person altogether for the place, and for my mood; worst of all he might be a 'talker'.
In my eyes he was the intruder, and if only he had stayed away... Another hour, another day; maybe we both would have had total solitude.
I knew that he must also have seen me, and that felt like a further intrusion. I did not want anyone else even knowing of my presence, and here there was nowhere to hide, and no way of remaining unseen as in a busy street or even in a crowded church. Shutting out my awareness of his existence progressed from difficult to impossible until, having approached to within a few yards of each other, our eyes met.
My usual reaction would have been to look away and not glance back. I had not expected to be looking at him at all by that stage, having already set my eyes firmly on the sand a few feet ahead of me, but for some reason I had looked up, and finding his eyes already on me, surprised myself by continuing to look at his face. As we closed to only a few feet I looked hard into his eyes, and though he gazed back, his look did not seem to question my presence in any way; he seemed to barely register that I was there. No words were spoken, and we both walked on, passing within touching distance, and leaving each other to the safety of the solitudes we had exchanged.

Almost at once I became aware that my feelings towards him had changed. The apprehension and annoyance had been replaced by curiosity and a rather disconcerting mixture of admiration and envy. I would rather have been the only person there, but, for what was probably the first time, I had become fully aware of the possibility that there may be other people who thought and felt as I did. I had just passed somebody who, like myself, was clearly brought to life by the feel and sound of the wind and waves, and by being alone with time to simply be himself. I had seen it in his eyes. But there was more. The envy was there because it had been obvious that he had something else which I had not. A peace and contentment seemed to glow on his face, and his eyes betrayed a love and an understanding of which I knew I was incapable.
Somehow he seemed vaguely familiar too, but only once he had gone - a common enough feeling - perhaps I had seen him somewhere before. I turned and watched him for a while, receding into the grey middle-distance beyond which was nothing in the failing light.
I tried to continue my walk for a while but stopping had made me realise just how cold I was. I gave in, and finally admitted to myself that I was no longer enjoying this. The longing to be there had gone; the inner calling had been answered and I had done whatever it was I had come there to do.
I glanced over my shoulder with a "Come on Jesus!", and turning round, re-trod what I took to be my own footsteps for a few yards before hurrying back towards warmth and the rest of the world.

The memory of that meeting slipped away as such things do. It had been important at the time, but was of no consequence beyond that day. That is, until a quiet summer evening maybe two years later, when I had already walked to the far end of that same strand.
Daylight has long given way to dusk, and while stopping to think of family and friends, even the dusk has gently slipped away. With eyes accustomed to the increasing darkness, and with no trace of light pollution here, light still lingers on, not so much in the west as in a thin wash everywhere. There is not a breath of wind, and I think I would normally have missed it, but this night the whole world seemed so utterly, utterly peaceful. The ocean is calm, with its sleepy swell breaking in whispered sighs upon the sand. A slow, rhythmical come-and-go of sound.
I strolled slowly along the water-line in the opposite direction from that previously described. The sand, sea, horizon, sky - all ran into each other. Where each was could still be near-seen, yet I could not make out where one joined the other. The only clear line was inland, where the mountains stood as jet against the merely coal-black sky.

As I walked I thought of other times I had been there, and then remembered that day when I had thought I was alone but found a stranger approaching me from this end of the beach.
I paused for a moment, and turned to look behind me. What on earth was I doing? I told myself to walk on, and I did.
I had not been looking for my friend and companion Jesus; I had already lost him, and had not yet discovered where or why he had gone. His absence had left me with a feeling of emptiness through which coursed a constant awareness that He had been with me. Why did He go? I asked that question constantly. Why had He been there with me? I was numbed in a way that made me unable to even formulate that question, let alone ask it of myself.
Just for a moment I had thought ... No. My imagination again.
I continued to walk, gradually becoming less happy with the quiet and the feelings of isolation, until suddenly, I felt that presence again. This time it was inescapable. I knew he was there once more: the stranger I had passed. I stopped and turned to face him, peering into the darkness. Nothing. Nobody.
Although I could not see, I knew he was not there. But he was there somewhere, very close; everything in me conspired to make me know it. And then, with heart pounding in my chest, and skin creeping with an unknown fear, I realised it was not behind me but coming towards me. I froze in an overwhelming sense of inevitability as the presence reached me. A shadow seemed to pass me by: an echo from the past; I longed to be away from there and as I quickly started off again, this unknown brother of fear clung to me.
A dread of seeing anything at all welded my eyelids shut until it began to subside.

Some days afterwards it was made clear for me, though I still failed to understand the full meaning of what had occurred.
On that cold winter's day, I had met myself as I was to be, having been turned around in some way, and altogether more at peace. Then, two years later, on a summer's night, having unknowingly become that apparent stranger, I had sensed the passing of the man who had previously walked that shore.

Today that beach is a quietly happy place to visit. It is now harder to find oneself alone there and it seems altogether very ordinary.
I have a large print of a photograph taken there hanging in my home; it shows my four children as silhouettes walking along the sand at sunset, journeying into life and all that it may hold for them. It is just another visual image, - but for me, it reminds of so much more.

May God grant you your sense of place, and the ability to hear Him when He calls.

.