Campus Ministry
A
SANDPIPER
by Kathryn Novatkoski
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I
drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins
to close in on me.
She was building a sand castle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue
as the sea. "Hello," she said. I answered with a nod, not really in
the mood to bother with a small child.
"I'm building," she said. "I see that. What is it?" asked,
not caring.
"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand. "That sounds good,
I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.
"That's a joy," the child said.
"It's a what?"
"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy." The bird
went glissading down the beach.
"Good-bye joy," I muttered to myself, "hello pain," and
turned to walk on. I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.
"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.
"Ruth," I answered. "I'm Ruth Peterson."
"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."
"Hi, Wendy." She giggled. "You're funny," she said.
In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed
me. "Come again, Mrs. P," she called. "We'll have another happy
day."
The days and weeks that followed belong to others: a group of unruly Boy Scouts,
PTA meetings, an ailing mother.
The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater.
"I need a sandpiper," I said to myself, gathering up my coat. The
ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I
strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the
child and was startled when she appeared.
"Hello, Mrs. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
"I don't know, you say."
"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.
The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."
"Then let's just walk."
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. "Where do
you live?" I asked.
"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
Strange, though, in winter.
"Where do you go to school?"
"I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation."
She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was
on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling
surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no
mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like
demanding she keep her child at home. "Look, if you don't mind," I
said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone
today." She seems unusually pale and out of breath.
"Why? "she asked. I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother
died!" and thought, my God, why was I saying this to a little child?"Oh,"
she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."
"Yes, and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!"
"Did it hurt? "
"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself. "When
she died?"
"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself.
I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. Feeling
guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage
after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored
hair opened the door.
"Hello," I said. "I'm Ruth Peterson. I missed your little girl
today and wondered where she was."
"Oh yes, Mrs. Peterson, please come in. "Wendy talked of you so much.
I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept
my apologies."
"Not at all-she's a delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing
that I meant it.
"Where is she?"
"Wendy died last week, Mrs. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't
tell you."
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. My breath caught.
"She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She
seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But
the last few weeks, she declined rapidly... " her voice faltered.
"She left something for you...if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment
while I look?"
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to this lovely
young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope, with MRS. P printed in bold,
childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach,
a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: A Sandpiper
to Bring You Joy.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened
wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so
sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.
The
precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words -- one
for each year of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, undemanding
love.
A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand -- who taught
me the gift of love.
