Sunrise, Sunset

I take the kids to the beach every Sunday before dusk.

We’re all working with the tools we’ve got. And I’ve got an ocean.

More and more I find myself needing to be re-rooted in the physical world.

I even switched back to print newspaper delivery. I find it’s easier to digest world events when I’m holding the thing in my hands.

And my feet, no matter what has happened the proceeding week, or what I imagine lies in the one ahead, carry my body strongest when they’re anchored in the wet sand, the water rising and retreating over them.

We re-enter the car barefoot - me and the kids - the bottom of our pants soaked.

Even on the days that are deemed cold in California we do this. When the sky is truly a hazy shade of winter.

When strangers walk past us in parkas and boots and ask “Aren’t your feet numb?”

And I answer “We moved here from New York!”

When there’s no one else making imprints on the wet sand it remains smooth, with a thin sheen that acts as a mirror. The sun seems to be both rising and setting at the exact same time.

Which it is, of course — Always it is doing this in different places.

But this week it feels like it’s happening at once - in the same space and moment - the sun is setting and it is rising in our country. And I’m hopeful.

I’m hopeful, but I’m not crazy!

In November of 2016 I joined an online community with the ambitious charge of bridging the gap in our divided nation. The group disbanded by December of the same year.

I wish we had stuck with it longer, because it’s going to be a much heavier lift now.

Let’s face it, it’s going to be a sandcastle at high tide.

The one that my children insist on building and rebuilding — over and over.

And for them, I do it. Again and again.

Wishing you all rootedness and love in the days and weeks ahead.

Prayer + Action: Glide