In the "New Covenant" made by our Creator God with humanity, as reported in Jeremiah 31:31-34, every human being can know God from within - because the Holy Spirit is revealing our Creator to all who are willing to know the Lord and trust in Him. We can still help each other along the way; so may you be pleased to find here a variety of helps to the life of faith in God through Jesus Christ. G.S.
----------------------------------------------------------------
The
Sandpiper
by Robert Peterson
She was six years old when I
first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this
beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to
close in on me. She was building a sand castle or something and
looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
"Hello," she said. I answered with a nod, not really in
the mood to bother with a small child. "I'm building," she
said. "I see that. What is it?" I
asked, not really caring. "Oh, I don't know, I just like the
feel of sand." That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.
A sandpiper glided by. "That's a joy," the child
said. "It's a what?" "It's a
joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us
joy." The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye
joy, I muttered to myself, hello pain, and turned to walk on. I
was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.
"What's your name?" She wouldn't give
up. "Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert
Peterson." "Mine's Wendy... I'm
six." "Hi, Wendy." She
giggled. "You're funny," she said. In spite of
my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed
me. "Come again, Mr. P," she
called. "We'll have another happy day."
The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA
meetings, and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning
as I took my hands out of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I
said to myself, gathering up my coat. The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited
me. The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to
recapture the serenity I needed.
"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to
play?" "What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a
twinge of annoyance. "I don't know. You
say." "How about charades?" I asked sarcastically. The
tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that
is." "Then let's just walk."
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her
face. "Where do you live?" I asked. "Over
there." She pointed toward a row of summer
cottages. Strange, I thought, in winter. "Where do
you go to school?" "I don't go to school. Mommy
says we're on vacation." She chattered little girl talk as we
strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I
left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling
surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I
was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother
on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at
home. "Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy
caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone today." She
seemed unusually pale and out of breath. "Why?" she asked. I
turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, My
God, why was I saying this to a little child?
"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad
day." "Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day
before and -- oh, go away!" "Did it hurt?" she
inquired. "Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her,
with myself. "When she died?" "Of course
it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in
myself. I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't
there. Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed
her; I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the
door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the
door "Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson. I
missed your little girl today and wondered where she
was."
"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so
much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was
a nuisance, please, accept my apologies." "Not at all --
she's a delightful child." I said, suddenly realizing that
I meant what I had just said.
"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had
leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you." Struck dumb, I
groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath. "She
loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she
called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined
rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left something for you, if
only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely
young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR.
P" printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing
in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was
carefully printed:
A
sandpiper to bring you joy
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to
love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my
arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I
uttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my
study. Six words – one for each year of her life -- that speak
to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.
A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand -- who
taught me the gift of love.
_____
NOTE (See Postscript below for the facts): This is a true story sent out by Robert
Peterson. It happened over 20 years ago and the incident
changed his life forever. It serves as a reminder to all of us
that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other. The price of hating other human beings is loving
oneself less.
Life is so complicated; the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can make
us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a momentary
setback or crisis. This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all
means, take a moment... even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell
the roses. This comes from someone's heart, and is read by many and now I share it
with you...
May God bless everyone who receives this! There
are NO coincidences! Everything that happens to us happens for a reason. Never brush
aside anyone as insignificant. Who knows what they can teach
us?
_____
I wish for you, a sandpiper.
----------------------------------------------------------------
"There is no Robert Peterson. The actual author of the piece is Mary Sherman Hilbert. The full-length version of Hilbert’s story appeared in 1978 in a periodical produced by a religious order in Canada and was subsequently picked up by Reader’s Digest and offered in condensed form to its readership in 1980. In that shortened version, which went on to become the widely-forwarded piece now part of online culture, the beach walker is identified as Ruth Peterson and the child as Windy.
The Reader’s Digest version is prefaced by the following author’s statement, one anyone seriously weighing the question of “Is it true?” should pay close attention to:
Several years ago, a neighbor related to me an experience that had happened to her one winter on a beach in Washington State. The incident stuck in my mind and I took notes on what she said. Later, at a writer’s conference, the conversation came back to me, and I felt I had to set it down. Here is her story, as haunting to me now as when I first heard it.
It needs to be noted that although the sandpiper tale is written in the first person, its author was not the one who had the encounter with the child; she is merely repeating a story she heard years earlier."
----------------------------------------------------------------
In the "New Covenant" made by our Creator God with humanity, as reported in Jeremiah 31:31-34, every human being can know God from within - because the Holy Spirit is revealing our Creator to all who are willing to know the Lord and trust in Him. We can still help each other along the way; so may you be pleased to find here a variety of helps to the life of faith in God through Jesus Christ. G.S.
----------------------------------------------------------------
© 2006-2021 All rights reserved Fr. Gilles Surprenant, Associate Priest of Madonna House Apostolate & Poustinik, Montreal QC
© 2006-2021 Tous droits réservés Abbé Gilles Surprenant, Prêtre Associé de Madonna House Apostolate & Poustinik, Montréal QC
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
