As we crossed a small stone parking lot I explained that we were going to the beach, just over there, pointing ahead of us as the trees gave way to beach grasses. I stopped and showed him how to pull apart a certain kind of beach grass and put it back together, telling him what I liked doing when I was a little girl.
His grandparents and Papa were walking ahead of us with his little sister on the path as we lagged behind. When the stones of the parking lot began to give way to white sand, Andreas stopped in his tracks and started piling sand up around his feet. A few steps in front of him were some garbage pails and a sign, beyond that the trail cut through a sand dune, getting softer and squishier with each step, and I knew, just over the rise, was a wide and mostly empty sandy beach and vast Lake Erie, spreading out as far as our eyes could see.
"Andreas, you can keep going, there is a lot more sand on the beach!"
He kept pushing the sand into a little pile.
"Just follow Papa, we're going to the beach where there is a lot more sand!"
He kept working hard, intent on the thin layer of sand directly in front of his feet. Some strangers walked past us and smiled at his eagerness as he played in the parking lot.
The metaphor is easy to grasp. How many times do I stop and busy myself with that which is directly in front of my feet, easy to get to, instead of following our Papa God down the path, into the expanse of joy, goodness, plenty, that he has for me? The short-term, easily attainable happiness, rather than pushing on, trusting and following him over the rise into the unknown. What He has in store for us is always better, richer, deeper than what we can find for ourselves.
