Still Loved

Sad that some things can’t be mended
(in a world that's likewise broken)
battered by the endless waves
like shards of glass...
until in time,
they’re
frosted smooth
amid the surf and sand...
and rescued by a seeking hand...
held tight like something treasured.
Still loved will do ‘til hope can be restored.

TK
Good Friday, 2006

When I was a small boy at Lighthouse Park in Port Huron (see post below), we’d swim until we shivered in the blue water—I’m not using “blue” figuratively; ask anyone who’s been there, the water is the deepest blue you’ve ever seen, hence the name of the bridge that arches to the Canadian side—anyway…

After hours of swimming in the cold waves (about the time our lips matched the water's hue), one of us would finally declare, “I’m going in,” and the others followed suit. With arms outstretched, we'd "ouch" our way across the stony mote that gathers at that shore, then scurry to our sun-soaked towels. Mom was usually sitting there to wrap us up and pat us on the rump as we fell face-down on the blanket, our teeth chattering like stacked plates on a train. When we thawed and could walk without the palsy, we’d venture north along the beach. (The other way leads straight to the St. Clair River toward the bridge.)

We walked along a seascape of small craft against a backdrop of the huge freighters in the channel of southern Lake Huron. If there were no ships, we'd study the cottages and beautiful homes whose dry sand we could not step upon. But with one foot in the water we could walk the wave-washed line my father called “public domain.” (A rule I’ve never enquired about but still rely upon when strolling beaches.) Always when we walked, our eyes scoured for shells or special stones or the sundry things that surface in the sand. And as is true of all beaches within a mile of human life, we’d sometimes come upon bits of broken glass. My brother Dave once stepped on an unseen jagged edge and the cut required several stitches. (My Aunt had the same thing happen at a reunion near Port Crescent Beach up in “the Thumb.”)

It seems like broken glass on beaches is less common since cans and plastic came along, but even back in the late 50's and early 60's, pieces of beach glass were not always dangerous. Often we’d come upon a rounded jewel with edges warn down by the sand. Sometimes it was colored (e.g. beer-bottle brown; the light green of a Coke bottle; or the white of a porcelain cup); sometimes it was clear but frosted from friction; but always such glass was a “find.” I once picked up a beautiful blue piece probably from a broken medicine bottle or a Vick’s Vaporub jar. It was smooth as driftwood but shined translucent in the sun. I held it tightly in my hand and later slipped it in the little pouch inside my swimsuit (which little boys know was made for just such treasures).

I wish I still had that piece of blue beach glass—I’d find a way to frame it with the lines above (whose form I hope suggests the roll of waves). It would remind me that we’re all broken—some in spirit; some in grief; some in body or mind; but all in the flawed sense of the fall. We’re broken in a broken world, and we sometimes hurt each other with our jagged edges. Many things in life feel shattered; some choices cannot be undone; some mean times can't be mended. But with God’s help there's hope that (in the meantime) the edges of our brokenness can be smoothed, and those willing to reach out, willing to embrace, can in their time remind us we're still loved.
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Romans 8: 18-22... "(18) For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. (19) For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. (20) For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; (21) because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. (22) For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now...." Still Loved: the still implies a familial love that remains to be true--"in spite of" not "because of." (i.e. "loved anyway...and always" as Christ loves us till all else is restored).