It all began when the youngest of my three moved to Michigan with her new husband to attend graduate school. With her, I shared the love of many things, especially swimming, whenever and wherever the opportunity presented itself!
Hot day in suburbia, no pool? No worries — that was us running through the sprinkler in your yard! No bathing suit, no problem! Let’s just say that we made do. Beach closed … off season … HAH! We would not be stopped night or day! And the colder the water the better!
So you will understand when I tell you that I was feeling adrift, that day on the beach just a few days after she and her groom left. I know, I know. We must give our children roots and wings. And honestly, I am really good at roots. The wings are the hard part for me. I mean their independence is a sure sign that we succeeded. I get it. This is what we hope for and dream for … right?
However, that particular pep talk was just not working for me that day on the beach when I had the blues. We were both in a new chapter. She newly married and I newly retired. We must both find our way. How would I spent my time now? I vowed, as was my custom, to be on the lookout for signs that would lead me.
It was then that I was blessedly distracted.
Crowded as it was, I could not help overhear the conversation between a mother behind me and her young daughter in front of me. I had been watching this young girl at water’s edge. She would start to go in and then step back anxiously.
“Mom, come swim with me!” She pleaded, “PLEASE Mom.”
Enjoying the sun, the mom, just behind me, was not at all drawn toward that cold water. I know that many people aren’t.
Inside me, a wrestling match ensued. Here I was, without a daughter to swim with. Here was this child, without a mom to swim with.
What to do?
Given that this is a dangerous time to be raising kids, and given that we truly do not know who to trust, I could not exactly just go and swim with the girl. As a former teacher and pastor, I was all too aware of the need for guidelines surrounding adults interacting with youth. Indeed, by nature of my profession, I am a mandated reporter.
Yet, the young girl kept looking back at her mom and I kept looking back, too.
Should I risk it? What would the mother think? Finally, I made what felt like a bold decision. I found the courage and I approached the mom. I awkwardly blurted out a sort of resume …
“I am a mom. I have three children, I was a teacher, a pastor, who worked with many youth groups.” Breathless I concluded, “And I’d be glad to swim with your daughter? If … that ../ would be OK with you?!”
She graciously accepted my offer. She brought me down to meet her daughter. Cara and I had a heavenly time together body-surfing and chatting. Cara taught me some new ways of riding the waves. I heard all about her dreams of a colorful flying dinosaur. The water was cold but my heart was warmed.
As I was sorting through my sorrow later in the day, as if it were a basket of laundry, I realized it was twofold. Surely I was missing my daughter. But I think it was deeper than that. I have been grieving the ever-increasing mean-spiritedness in our world. I am deeply saddened by how fearful we can feel about offering a kindness in a time that seems to require that we be distrustful of one another. I was reminded of a hat I saw on an older man at the same beach. “Make America Kind Again.” Amen!
Amidst the sorting, a wave of joy and inspiration made its way to my heart, and began to wash over me. I decided then and there that my new mission would, with bold courage, to go forward offering acts of kindness.
And because the scene at the beach has repeated itself time and again, I believe I also found my new calling that day. I had received a sign! I think I will advertise my services as a Beach Buddy! I could design a T-shirt. Maybe business cards?! “Responsible Adult Delighted to Play in the Water with Your Child!”
The Rev. Valerie M. Roberts-Toler is a retired United Methodist Church pastor, who worships at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Gloucester. Midweek Musings rotates among Cape Ann clergy.