Random MOMents of Grace by Ginny Kubitz Moyer

Author:Ginny Kubitz Moyer [Moyer, Ginny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: REL012030, Religion/Christian Life/Family, REL012130, Religion/Christian Life/Women's Issues, REL012120, Religion/Christian Life/Spiritual Growth
Publisher: Loyola Press
Published: 2013-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

9

The Good and the Bad

You Can’t Have One Without the Other

Because we live in California, less than an hour’s drive from the ocean, it would be easy to assume that my family spends lots of time at the beach. Actually, given our track record, we might as well be living in Kansas. Due to a combination of inertia, general busyness, and the daunting specter of coastal traffic, my boys were five and three before they had their first encounter with the Pacific Ocean.

The initiation took place on a November afternoon, a day that was slightly chilly and overcast. The sun occasionally broke through a rift in the clouds, beaming down linear rays that made the sky look like a picture on an old holy card. Scott parked the car, and we met up with Matthew’s preschool buddy and his parents, who had invited us to go tide pooling. The boys were elated to be seeing each other in a new context, and jumped up and down with glee. We climbed down the wooden steps built into the side of the hill and crossed the beach, heading for the russet-colored kelpy stretch of tide pools. The cool air was bracing and smelled phenomenally good; the afternoon light was mesmerizing; the boys were thrilled; it was shaping up to be one of those memories that I’d want to treasure, to polish and house forever in the curio cabinet of my mind.

And then we got out to the tide pools themselves, and it all fell apart. Matthew and his friend scampered dexterously over the rocky ribs of the pools, peering into the water, pointing to different creatures and listening raptly to the other dad, a veteran tide pooler, as he drew their attention to the marine life inside. But Luke—three-year-old Luke, our little guy with the exuberance of a puppy and the grace of Godzilla—wanted to run with the big kids. He did not want to hold our hands as we led him over the slick, rocky surfaces. Scott and I did not want to let him run roughshod over the fragile ecosystems in which we were, after all, Brobdingnagian visitors. And when the irresistible force of a three-year-old’s desires meets the old immovable object of his parents’ environmental consciousness, something has to give. That something was my vision of a tranquil, magical time at the beach.

For most of the next hour, Luke was a very unhappy tide pooler. Scott and I took turns carrying him in our arms or trying to put him down on his feet, gripping his hand tightly while he fought wildly to be free. He cried and kicked. He screamed, “I don’t want it!” His nose ran copiously, and I realized that I had no Kleenex in the pocket of the old green coat I was wearing. All I could find was a balled pair of unwashed nylon trouser socks, and having these offensive objects rubbed under his nose did little to help Luke’s mood. (Who can blame

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