Gently falls her silvered locks, wind tossed by the salt air, covering her eyes as she walks. The salt air has a habit of teasing her that way, like a high school sweet heart vying for her attention.
Absent-mindedly, her hand caresses her wayward locks back into place, only to repeat the discipline many times before she reaches the boardwalk that takes her back to her beach house. Fragmented lines frame her blue eyes that were once compared to the deep blue of the ocean at its horizon.
The upward curve of her lips gently lights up her face as she observes the life in the sand and the ocean. Sand crabs burrow deep, as if hiding from the seagulls that casually circle over head, and then suddenly dive into salt water to bring up wiggling fish for breakfast.
Life has been difficult for Abigail; and, for years she believed in a God she did not think that she could trust. How can an intelligent person believe in a God who allows suffering when He has the ability to save?
Walking through the weathered door, her feet cause the old floorboards to creak as she enters the house. The combination of ceiling fan with air conditioner makes her realize just how hot the day has already become at this early hour.
Despite the heat, coffee with cream and one sweetener is her tradition after a morning walk. Georgia Pecan was her favorite flavor ever since a friend brought it to her from their trip to the Carolina mountains. Then, sitting by the gulf view window, she opens her book to read.
Marissa, is one of those friends who is fun loving enough to over look her obsession for a God Abigail was trying to ignore.
Little by little, over coffee, antique shopping, and long walks with Marissa, Abigail had begun to soften to the gentle wooing of a lover she had never seen. She began to see that all things were possible and sometimes God will allow what He hates to achieve what He loves.
It had taken years of vacillating love and anger toward God for the many sorrows she credited Him with in her life, to finally see the signature of beauty that can only come through dark watery places.
Her finger caresses the words underlined years ago in ink, now faded with time. If only she had believed the words in her youth. But regret was not a pastime she indulged in these days. Regret was a thief, and it had stolen enough of her joy and her relationships and her time, from loving the world around her.
Her head leans back on the old wicker rocker watching the paddles of the ceiling fan making slow rotations, and the up-curled corners of her mouth return as she thinks about how she cheated regret out of the victory that was its pursuit.
Older age is now a friend to her, for how else could one sit in sunset of life and gently smile at the future, and gracefully forgive the past? How else could one learn to love all that comes your way, except to watch the small stories of her life add story to story until the missing parts and broken hopes were brought together with meaning?
The sun is fully raised now, and Abigail placed a floppy sun hat on her head and sets out for the store.
Latest posts by Diane W. Bailey (see all)
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