Hands Open, Face Up

Just over a year ago I was grieving on the beach in Turkey. Yeah, I know, if you've got to be grieving the Mediterranean is a pretty great place to be. But even in a great and lovely place I needed God to remind me of his presence and his love.

I sat and sifted sand and pebbles looking for sea glass. I prayed.

God? Can I find a piece of sea glass? I know you love me. But can you show me your love this way today? 

And I dug and sifted and spread out the warm rocks. And yes, I found a piece of sea glass. I rejoiced over that one piece of sea glass, but I didn't stop looking for more. It wasn't that the one piece of sea glass wasn't enough. I already knew God loved me. But I couldn't help asking for another.

God can I find more sea glass? Please?

And I did. And I reveled in each one and God and I were happy together. I was basking in his love and he was full of joy at my asking and at my joy in receiving his love. It was all so simple and found in little smooth bits of trash.

That love was a child-like, father trusting, contented love, the kind of love that is free and joyful and humble. There was no presumption, just trust.

I wish I lived like that always, hands open, face up.