Shortly after we were married, my husband, Paul, was asked to
be a groomsman in a wedding in New Jersey. Being from the Midwest, neither of
us had seen the Atlantic Ocean, and Paul was very excited about it. He wanted
to experience the ocean -- the breeze, the smells, the breakers, the taste of
the salt sea.
We went out on the boardwalk in the evening. We got off the
boardwalk and into the sand. It was difficult for Paul to roll the wheelchair
through the sand, so he asked me to push him. It was much too cool to swim, but
Paul wanted to experience the reality of the ocean, so he asked me to roll him
out into the water.
I tilted the wheelchair back in order to keep his feet above the
water and pushed him a few yards out into the ocean. The water was only a few
inches deep. He was well able to balance the wheelchair in that tilted-back
position, so I splashed around in the shallow water, seeing all the interesting
things the sea washes up, while he sat and “experienced.” The tide was coming
in gently -- no “rolling breakers” here. He felt the movement of the water,
smelled the breeze, tasted the ocean, heard the gulls. A few people were
walking on the boardwalk; occasionally someone would ask me, “Do you want me to
help you get him out?” “No, thanks,” was my cheerful reply. “I just got him
in!”
Eventually the tide had inched the water up near his seat and
feet, so he called me to come and get him out.I went over, took hold of the wheelchair handles to back him
out of the ocean, and tugged. (Did you see this coming?) I couldn’t budge him.
He grabbed the wheel rims and pulled hard. Nothing. Together, we couldn’t move him an inch. As
the beautiful water had softly, gloriously, smoothly flowed around him, the
sand hidden beneath had insidiously, wickedly, relentlessly washed up and up around
his wheelchair tires and locked him in.
I scanned the boardwalk, looking for those friendly helpers.
Nary an assistant could I see. Dusk surrounded; water surrounded; sand encased. We pulled together. Heave ho! Heave ho! Ever more frantically
calling on our strength, we finally moved him just a bit. A bit more. Another
inch. Two more. The sea continued rising. It was a long hard slog. We finally
got him back on the beach, with wet feet and seat. He was delighted. Happy as a
clam. He had experienced the ocean. It has been a wonderful memory for over 40
years.
I could draw the likeness of sin, as it sneaks into our lives,
robbing us of freedom, but that one is rather obvious. You get it. But the big
things we call sin may come crashing in more directly. We make poor choices and
experience bad results. We deliberately do wrong things we later call
“mistakes.” (Sin is always a mistake.)
But there is a lot of sneaky stuff in our lives that we don’t
really recognize as sin that has the consequence of robbing us of our freedom
to move when God tells us to move.
In our old age (whatever age you are), complacence (which is
not the same thing as contentment) may cause us to be unwilling to move in a
direction God wants to send us. We’ve been comfortable with things as they are;
don’t rock the boat. This is good enough. We’re stuck in the sand and happy as
a clam.
Unforgiveness gets a grip on us that increases as we pet it.
More unforgiveness washes in. We fawn over the grudge; we forget how much we
have been forgiven. We think we have equality with God; we should have the
power to punish or to forgive. The accumulation of resentment locks us into an
irresistible anger.
We may get into a habit of noting and criticizing others’
failures. The cumulative effect of constant criticism may make us start to feel
pretty good about our own righteousness! But it is a trap. We are not
righteous. Only Christ is righteous, and we have no business claiming His
righteousness as ours so we can look down on others.
Memories – bad ones – may pile up around us. They recur, grate
on old wounds, swell.
You can make your own list. What is sneaking around in your
life, bogging down your growth, locking you down so tightly you cannot respond
to God’s call? If you don’t know, ask Him. In Grace Group on Sunday evening, I
made a suggestion as to how we might go about “forgetting those things which
are behind.” God immediately gave me my personalized list of things to work on.
I don’t like to think about it. But a bit of honest, if painful, evaluation may
keep us from getting stuck in wet sand – which is the first stage of hardened
concrete.
--Lynda Shenefield
