His house by the sea

He tosses and turns in his room. He’s lying on his side, eyes blinking, looking into the darkness. When he finally decides that he wasn’t going to fall asleep, he sits up at the edge of his bed. He stays there for a while, trying to think of what it is that’s causing him so much anxiety. When he couldn’t put a finger on anything, he walked to the porch and sits there instead. Maybe fresh air will help.

It was a beautiful night. The surface of the ocean glistened like glass from the moon’s glow. He hugged himself tight and rubbed the arches of his feet together to keep warm.

For as long as he could remember, he had always wanted a house by the sea. He dreamt of waking up at dawn, grabbing his board and heading straight out to surf, or as he calls it, his time alone with God. He talks to God about all sorts of things. He talks to God like he was talking to a good friend. He tells Him about what’s going on in his life, whether he was sad or happy or just needed somebody to listen. And whenever he rides a wave, it’s as if God’s responding by saying “Everything will be okay”.

He gets up and walks slowly towards the beach. The soles of his feet now damp like the sand beneath them. The sun was just about to rise and halfway through his pace, he stopped and looked back at his house- his little house by the sea.

This isn’t just a dream anymore and realizing that made him smile. Maybe that was it. Perhaps he just forgot to say thank you to God.

He did so the best way he knew how. By getting his board and sitting at the beach until it was bright enough to paddle out.

“Hey there God. It’s me again…”