Sarah’s Saint – II

The beach seems different today. Colder, greyer. Whisks of droplets fly sideways through the air from the pounding surf. Waves rolling and crashing, pounding the earth with a great force, like a constant beating drum. The water seems angry today. Like a child having a tantrum, it beats itself against the wet sand, over and over again.

I walk, hands stuffed into the front pouch of my favourite hoodie. Tufts of hair poke out around the edges of my hood as the wind grabs, invisibly, tugging at the strands in an attempt to pull it free and let it fly loose. A miserable day, I think to myself.

Suddenly, sunshine kisses my skin, spreading warmth throughout the fibres of my very being. Instantly, I am no longer cold.

“Every day is a beautiful day, created by God, with purpose. Perhaps the ocean is taking its mood from you.” Her voice is like a melody floating in the air.

I don’t need to turn to know who it is. There is a knowing that unfolds itself with her appearance. Even if her identity is still to be revealed. She has returned, this lady of grace who floats along the beach, ever smiling, walking barefoot in her gown of white. Saying nothing, I continue to walk on.

“Everything is interconnected. If you looked through a microscope, you’d see the truth of creation. The impossible beautiful and intricate details that are so similar across all of creation. He has imprinted everything with his unique signature.”

I look at the water ahead of me. Rays of gold reflect off the now calm waters as it rolls in, gently kissing the sand. She brings a state of peace with her that calms even the violent waters.

“I don’t have time for anger.” She smiles knowingly and glances at me.

Even when I remember, I forget that she read minds. We go through life delighting in the knowledge that our thoughts belong only to us. It is a comfort knowing we can think things without revealing them.

“He knows everything you think. Nothing is private to him.”

It’s not a question, rather a simple statement requiring no response. I am not surprised by it. While not something I’ve given much thought to, it makes sense. I am not bothered by the idea that God knows my thoughts, but this woman? She is different. I wonder if she reads all minds, or just mine? The thought is fleeting. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I stuff my hands further into their protective pouch and keep my gaze forward.

“Afraid to look at me this time?”

I turn, stopping dead in my tracks as if someone dared me to do so. A weird expression, that is. One is not dead. They’ve just stopped quickly, but it gives meaning to the expression. Glancing at her, I feel the change. My shoulders lower, hands emerge to hang at my side, my breath becomes deeper, and more soothing. Relaxation rolls through me, like a warm bath, easing my weary bones. The air smells like a dozen wild flowers mixed with fresh salt air and sunshine. If Heaven has a scent, I imagine it is something similar to this.

She is more beautiful than I remember, with honey brown hair that tumbles across her shoulders, and eyes that shift colour at every turn. Not blue, nor green, or even grey. A touch of hazel twinkles and then is gone. A combination of all eye colours swirling in a mesmerizing gaze. A ghost? A witch? The thoughts fly too quickly for me to suppress them. Her laughter rises up like bubbles in champagne.

“Not a ghost, nor a witch. I promise you that. Not even a guardian angel, though I’ve been mistaken for one across the years. Definitely not the boogeyman or woman like you first thought.” That laughter again. It’s like a sweet symphony calling to all. I’m reminded of a children’s movie and smile. A few birds land softly beside her, singing along to her melody of life. They too are mesmerized, it seems. A siren perhaps? No, I think not. Sirens usually seduce men, not women. What, or who, is she then?

As I turn to ask the question she already knows, I find myself once again sitting up right in bed. She’s gone. This time, there is no fear. No anxiety to erase the joys of peace. Still, I feel a loss with her leaving.

“I’ll be back,” comes the whisper, floating on the air like a cloud settling in to watch the sunrise. Soft laughter fades away, but the glow remains. It seems peace has settled onto my troubled soul.

Laying back down, I realize something. That which worried me only a few hours ago does not seem as important somehow. Peacefulness fills my soul. Like a blanket swaddling a newborn child, sleep embraces me once again.

 © Leslie C Dobson

If you are enjoying Sarah’s Saint, you may like other short faith stories which you can find on the Faith Stories link of Leslie’s website.