Nativity Catholic Church
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A Gentle Handful Donald Jeffrey Hayes didn’t need to write these words for me to know their truth, but I appreciate his ability to capture the truth in his economy of language:
“Let me escape from this
gentle madness— Whenever I have the need to seek refreshment and renewal, the lure of the seashore works a potent magic over my soul. The poet Wallace Stevens once wrote: “Perhaps the truth depends on a walk along the beach, a composing of soul as the body tires….” In my life and ministry, much “soul-composing” has occurred while strolling a sandy beach, and much truth has been rescued from dark places with a few hours of pacing the water’s edge, feeling the scratch of sand between my toes, and listening to the narcotic sound of the lapping waves against the shore. Recently, I had the opportunity to spend some days of retreat along the Gulf of Mexico, and despite the normal, dreamy “scent of the sea” being compromised by the infiltration of a nasty “Red Tide” bloom, the infusion of grace the Lord provided allowed the “composing of soul” to happen once again. While taking an afternoon’s walk one day, with my eyes fixed on the shallow edge of the water looking for shells (and also trying to avoid any remnants of deceased puffer fish washed up from the toxic tide), I was fortunate to make the discovery of discoveries for the ardent shell-stalker: a whole, fully intact sand dollar. Sure, the casual tourist can head off to the local shell emporium and purchase a handful of them for less than a Big Mac, but the thrill of finding a sand dollar on one’s own is incomparable. Anyone who has ever traversed the seashore knows that coming upon sand dollars is not an easy enterprise; they are few and far between—that is, unless you want to gather “25 or 50 cent” pieces, as I call them. There is never a dearth of broken fragments of sand dollars littering the shore. In fact, many a gasp of disappointment has quickly followed what was thought to be a rich discovery, after pulling a sand dollar from the soupy sauce, only to find a chunk missing from it. Sand dollars are so wonderful—and incredibly fragile! No sooner did I snag my first sand dollar, than two more came into view within a short distance walk. As is often the case when I walk the beach, I do not “plan” to recover shells for keeping—meaning, I don’t normally have something in which to carry the treasures home. Such was the case on this glorious “dollar day”! Knowing the fragility of these rare finds, I tried to bear them ever so gently in my hand, while trying not to lose the grip on my flip-flops, which were dangling between the fingers of my other hand. After continuing my search for a bit longer, I began to turn back in the direction of home. But upon checking my “money hand,” I sadly discovered the best looking of the three sand dollars had already cracked into several pieces. Despite my attentiveness and soft-handed grasp, I lost one of my finds. I suspect that much like my walk on the beach, we go through our days cradling a handful of treasures, and despite our best efforts and most careful attention, occasionally something we hold dear breaks and shatters. Quite often, we are criticized for having too much and being too possessive, for trying to juggle too many activities, commitments and responsibilities. The clarion call to “prioritize” the multiple pieces of our lives is never-ending it seems—at least that is the message we keep getting from our spiritual sages. But I sometimes think that rather than holding on to so many things that are not good for us and are unhealthy, whether spiritually, emotionally, or physically, I believe most of us are holding multiple goods in our hands, multiple treasures—that’s why it is so hard to let go of them. We cherish the gifts God has bestowed upon us, and when we look at who we are and where we have come in life, we see how greatly God has blessed us and know our “hands” to be full. The thought of relinquishing something that is good and virtuous and wholesome, something that is a true treasure in our lives is not an inviting one. Perhaps one of the hard truths of our spiritual life is that holding too many good things at one time, despite our gentleness and attentiveness, is a danger for us. Some things of beauty must be handled individually in order to truly appreciate them, learn from them, and love them. Too much of a good thing is not always a good thing. Even beautiful, well cared for things in life can be damaged and broken, despite our best efforts to honor and preserve them. Sometimes even a “gentle handful” still remains just that—a hand-full—and what we may be invited to do on occasion is to set aside several gifts for the sheer enjoyment of only one gift. Looking back now, I see how one precious, beautiful sand dollar, cupped in the palm of my hand, would have been more than enough that day, had I had the humility to accept it as a singular gift from the sea.
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