O, that I could study these pools of life and discover the names of all the creatures within. What are their names? What do they eat? What do they do when the tide comes rolling in over their heads, pulling and pushing like a tug-o-war of water.
Hello, limpets upon limpet. Hello, crab with the beady eyes hiding in the crevice between the purple spiked urchins.
Do you know about the waves crashing nearby, little crab? Do you know that we humans up here are frolicking in the same water that brings you lunch. Yes, we are. We just made sport of it. I don't suppose you do that do you?
Alas, I cannot study you little crab because the tide is coming in, because the moon goes round the earth, because the night will come. And I will grow hungry and tired and cold. Perhaps I must leave the study of the crab for eternity where I will have the always now to examine infinitesimal things. Today I am mortal. I cannot.
Where go a mere five days lavished with gifts heaped upon my lap? Why do the hours flit away when I pay no attention to them or meal times or nap times or wakings or sleeps? I will tell you how it happens. It goes this way: when I, like a child, meet every unexpected newness as a sweet surprise.
The arm of an old cypress to sit in while journaling! Surprise!
A view of alcoves and cliffs! Surprise!
A content husband who sketches beside me! Surprise!
Passing tourists willing to photograph Phil and I in front of a blueish of blues sea! Surprise!
The bright green tufts of growth attached to rocks! Surprise!
The yearly hospitality of two dear relatives! Surprise!
The time Phil took to make Ed and Barb some garden signs for their house! Surprise!
The great adventure that I take with this man! Surprise!
The two little children who are awaiting our homecoming! Surprise!
O, that I could continue naming these little surprises in the daily grind that so often becomes drudgery. O, that I could see all of God's sweet graces raining down into my open hands each day so that I, like my children, might be unaware of the passing of time. Then I should reach the end of this life sooner, and the forever afterwards will begin where I shall have eternity to study the small things that I left behind in Monterey and the small things that I miss each day with these children, not because I haven't the eyes to see them, but because the tide is coming in, the night is coming, and people are tired and hungry.
I sleep well knowing that no detail here shall ever be wasted when I shall have eternity to examine it for all its beauty and context and purpose.