It was our third day at the beach. The red flags warning beach goers to stay out of the turbulent waters were finally replaced with yellow. Eager surfers and excited children littered the waves. I preferred to sit in the sand since the water temperature was still spring-time frigid.
A mother and son spent hours searching the shoreline for seashells. Their eyes remained downcast into the shallow water the entire time. They added each new shell into the net where their collection grew. I scanned the horizon, and just beyond the seeking pair, I spotted several dolphins rising out of the water and splashing back down. This scene lasted for about twenty minutes, and I’m almost certain the mother and son never saw the bit of nature’s awe behind them.
As the scene unfolded, I took note of the day (not that it had been far from my mind since waking): Good Friday. I’d already seen advertisements for Remembrance services. Participating in those services when I was a church attender always unsettled me (although I think that was supposed to be the point). Jesus said, Remember me, but I’d sit through those Southern Baptist services remembering my sins, adding each one to my collection while focusing on feeling the appropriate amount of guilt and shame. Jesus said, It is finished, but I was just glad when those services were finished.
These days, I no longer collect my sins. I focus on the finished scene, the one in which all things have been made new. I don’t want to miss the goodness of God.
