I remember sitting on a beach
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In the early morning
Alone with the sand and the waves.
A small flock of Sanderlings
Suddenly swept low over the breaking waves
And landed in a flurry
Right there on the wet sand
About twenty five yards in front of me.
To my delight
They began their funny racing dance –
All together rushing on their spindly legs
After the receding wave –
Pecking into the sopping sand for tidbits as they dashed –
And then as the ocean turned
And sent a new wave rushing in toward the beach,
They spun around
And ran like crazy for all their life
Up the sand just ahead of the curling white foam
Of the incoming wave –
Their tiny sticks of legs going so fast
They became a blur.
The tide wave stops
Pulling back again.
The Sanderlings spin around
And rush as one chasing after it,
Pecking as they go –
So fast –
It reminds me
Of how you and I run after God,
Picking up His many graces
Lying everywhere on the wet beach,
And then when He turns Himself
Towards us and comes running at us in love,
We flee in such a panic
The angels must laugh at us –
Like the tiny Sanderlings
As fast as we can
Lest we get caught by love!
Paul Clement Czaja