I was walking along the beach tonight, wave after wave rushing at the side of my toes.
I saw a light at the end of the shore, a tiny dot, and I thought about the end. My life was halfway done.
I saw people swimming, clapping, dancing, kissing, fighting on the sand. I thought about taking a part in those lives, the swirling stories and journeys and conflict all colliding; I thought about the crying and joy and laughter and paintbrushed moments like they were made just for us; I thought of births and weddings and funerals, places where people hug.
I saw the invisible clock on our foreheads counting back to zero and the sound of the book closing shut on the last page of our lives.
I thought about the people who lied to me, hurt me, betrayed me, stole me — and I was mad, but I was sad too, because they need grace as much as I do.
I thought of being old, wrinkles on my eyelids, and how much I’ll love my wife as her hair goes grey, and if my kids would say to me near the end that I did okay as my frail fingers hold their fresh hands, and if my last whisper would be something funny or something wise.
I thought of God: watching us grow up, a proud Father who felt our stumbles and picked us up again, even when we refused, and His very breath lighting up my lungs like the way the moon hit the end of each wave as it broke along the shore.
I saw the light at the end of the beach again, and thought about the other side of those lights, to a strange eternal place called home, where I could keep my toes in the sand forever.
I looked at the waves, wave after wave, endless in their relentless supply; and I thought of grace.
I walked back to my car. My life was a little past halfway done. I want to end it right. I want to fight this fight. I need the waves this night. I need grace.