Jesus and I walk down the white shore. He smells like Coppertone and so do I. His board, rough and splintered, is tucked safely beneath his tan arms, a sprinkling of blond hairs mixing with the brown. I smile. His hair always gets lighter in the summer.
He found the board one afternoon as we combed the beach for sand dollars. It was cracked and propped up beside the dumpster of an abandoned souvenir shop. I told him we should find a better one, but he said that this one would do just fine. He fixed the crack, but when I suggested he smooth the wood out and maybe repaint it, he just laughed. He said that he liked the board the way it was, that somebody must have really ridden it hard for it to be cracked that way. "It's already been broken in for me," he said, and grinned.
I clutch my board protectively under my arm too as we gallop towards the water. Jesus found my board for me. It's white with a blue stripe, and I try to keep it clean and shiny, thought it has a few scratches from the usual wear and tear.
He's very good at finding things. He always looks in places that I would never even think to go. Mine was underneath the boardwalk, obscured from sight by empty beer bottles and trash. I never walk that deep beneath the boardwalk, but he says that it's safe-that even though it looks scary under there, you could find a lot of cool stuff if you looked hard enough. The board was in good shape when he found it, but I could tell he'd repainted it for me first.
We jump on the boards as the first wave breaks, our bellies slapping the wood. We paddle quickly, waiting expectantly for the calm before a big one.
I never use to want to ride a big one; I was always too scared. But as I watched Jesus paddle out there, so brave, and ride in with his arms raised triumphantly, water dripping from his beard, I wanted to ride with him. Now, I always go for the big ones, no matter how scared I get, because it's totally worth it.
The wave comes and I paddle, but my arms aren't as strong as Jesus'. Before the water crashes over me, I spy Jesus riding the curl. He always rides the curl. The force of the water forces me down, my knees rubbing into the sands of the Gulf Shore. I try to raise myself up, but my legs are too weak and I collapse beneath the tide. A sea of bubbles swims around my face, my eyes wide open. A hand grasps me by my bathing suit straps, yanking me to the surface. I cough and spit a bit, squinting at Jesus through the stinging salt.
"Ready to go again?" he asks. I nod.
posted by Beverly at
1:38 PM
5 comment(s):
Beverly,
I love this story! I am so glad to have found your blog. You always put a smile on my face and one in my heart! Thanks for being you.
Lauren Cunningham
By
Lauren, at
2:31 PM
I love Jesus! It's good to read good things that exemplify His character.
By
Jeans, at
6:42 PM
Gee - now I HAVE to pick up surfing. I was gonna anyways, but now it's a spiritual quest. Neat post!
By
Scott, at
1:01 AM
I agree with Scott. This story makes me want to surf too. First I have to work up to getting in the water above my knees. I have a long way to go, in more ways than one.
By
Candy, at
8:05 AM
lauren, i love you too!
jeans, there have been too many stories and movies that have exemplified Jesus in this pale kinda mamsy pamsy way.
scott-good luck with your surfing, I'm anxious to hear how it works out.
candy-last time I was on a surf board a wave of stingrays went by me turning the bluegreen water to black..never picked up a board since.
By
Beverly, at
11:35 AM
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