It’s almost the middle of December, and I have beach sand in my shoes.
Anyone living in New England knows we’re often knee-deep by now, and there I was this morning – walking the beach at dawn with the seagulls.
I loved the light.
Sure, the sunrise was beautiful – but it was the light I lingered for. The way it shined the sand. How it illuminated a path across the water. I felt for it on my face. Warmed. Believe it or not, I turned my back on the horizon to study how the light reaches out to the world.
The world’s been in need of a little light.
I’m always surprised at how often I’m given exactly what I need – not only when I need it – but usually before I even know I need it. One moment after another – like the waves rise and crash in a rhythm I can count on – each one finding its own way in its own time.
Stepping my way around scattered sea-worn rocks trading holiday carols for the call of gulls and crashing waves.
Finding my way. In the light. On the beach. In December.
The first gift of Christmas.