Beach Encounter
Author: Mia Watkins
One crisp, early November morning, I took a brisk walk on a beach near my home. Except for the gentle surf and some screeching seagulls, the beach was silent and deserted. Emotionally, I was reeling under the stress of a recent difficult divorce. How was it possible that a family like ours could totally disintegrate? We already had our two daughters when I was diagnosed with cancer.
Treatments followed with the usual sickness and loss of hair. They were unsuccessful, and eventually I had major surgery. Miraculously, I recovered from this ordeal and was given a clean bill of health.
During the following months I began to lose my balance and tire easily. After many doctors' appointments and tests, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. My HMO offered no treatment or hope. I coped the best I could, had hand controls put in my car, used crutches on bad days and even a wheelchair at times. My husband was unable to cope with all these illnesses. He began to show symptoms of manic-depression and eventually became abusive, even to the point where he once beat me unconscious.
God had been my strength and anchor during these ordeals. I knew He was walking with me, that He would never leave me or forsake me, and knew all about my wounds and hurts. It was His peace that had carried me thus far. Some days, when my legs were strong enough to carry me unaided, I enjoyed my beach walks like on this crisp November morning.
In the distance, I spotted a man sitting quietly on the sand, gazing at the ocean. Yet, as I passed him from behind, I saw his shoulders shaking and realized that he was sobbing, apparently in great agony. Should I stop and talk with him? A perfect stranger? Who knew if he was a fugitive or an ax murderer? I walked on.
However, something about those agonizing sobs pulled me back. I slowly turned and walked toward him. He was still crying and hardly seemed to notice me. I took a closer look and saw a man in his forties, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, short hair and cleanly shaven. Certainly not a dangerous-looking man. Gently, I sat down beside him. For a moment, no one spoke, then I asked softly.
"Are you all right? Can I help you with something?" He kept staring at the ocean.
"I have melanoma," he said. "They are going to amputate my leg."
Taken aback, I was silent for a moment, then began to ask him general questions, hoping to calm him down and get his mind on something else. I learned that his name was John, he was single and alone in the world. I noticed a necklace he was wearing, made out of old string fashioned into a cross. Wanting to keep the conversation going, I asked him:
"Where did you get that, John?"
"I made it in Vietnam," he began. "My buddies and I were in a foxhole. They all got killed, except me. The enemy was still around so I could not move or let them know I was alive. To get my mind off the danger, I took the strings of my buddies' gear and started to knot it into a necklace. I prayed for safety while I was doing this and put a cross at the end. I have never taken it off," he finished.
"When you were praying," I asked softly, "did you believe God heard you?"
"I don't know," he said, "my life was spared, but what for? Now I have a deadly disease. Look at all the thousands of people who were killed during the war. How can a good God allow all this?"
I explained as best as I could what the Bible has to say about good and evil, war and disease.
As I spoke I was strangely aware that somehow these weren't my own words pouring out of my mouth. They came with a compassion and conviction that weren't my own. God was there with us, explaining His love and care to this desperate young man.
"John," I said gently, "you've been through a lot and you are facing a lot more. You need someone to lean on, to support you. You need Jesus as your friend. You can trust Him, and He loves you, John. God is there for you. Jesus, His son, died, so that we may have peace and eternal life. We need this peace to go through life," I stressed.
I told John a little about my own life's struggles and illnesses.
"I could not have made it without God's help and support. Even today, as I was walking on the beach, I felt His presence and his strength. Without Him, I could never have survived. But look, I'm still alive and I still have hope. You can too, John."
Our conversation continued. John had many questions. The gentle surf kept rolling toward us, and I knew God was at work in John's heart. Finally, I asked him if he wanted to pray. Slowly, he nodded his head.
Gently, I led him in a prayer of forgiveness and surrender to the Lord. We both wept, but this time John's tears were not tears of sorrow but tears of relief and peace. Deeply moved, I was amazed at this transformation and in awe that God had used me in this way so unexpectedly.
"John," I finally warned him, "you're going to have a hard time. You're a child of Christ now, and there are going to be some roadblocks ahead of you. It's very important that you find a good church, get a Bible and start reading it."
I suggested a local beach community church.
"People dress informally there, John. You can come just as you are."
I got up to leave and rummaged through my bag for a business card but found none. Finally, I tore a deposit slip from my checkbook, wrote down my phone number and handed it to John.
"Call me," I said. "We'll talk and I can also get you a Bible."
Then I got up to continue my walk. I hadn't gone far, when he got up and ran after me, calling me back.
"You know," he said, when he caught up with me, "you are an angel who dropped in from heaven."
I smiled and said, "No, John, you've watched too much TV I'm not an angel." I turned away again, but he stopped me. Slowly he took his necklace off and handed it to me.
"I want you to have this," he said.
Tears came to my eyes again. Overwhelmed, I knew I couldn't refuse his gift, so I carefully accepted it and pulled it gently over my head.
When I returned home I hung John's necklace over my desk lamp. Every time I saw it there, I prayed that God would keep him safe and in the center of his will.
I did not hear from John again, but the following spring a letter arrived. There was no return address. Inside was a small card. Taped to it was a crumpled piece of paper from my checkbook with my address. On the back of the card was one sentence: John went to be with the Lord.
When I read it, I cried and removed John's necklace from my lamp and put it with other treasures in a safe place. I knew I would see John again in heaven. But the story did not end there. Three years later, last December, I received a mysterious Christmas card. Again, there was no return address. Inside was a handwritten note that said: “I'll be eternally grateful for my son's eternal life.
I'm John's mother, and I now attend his church.”
A note from the author:
P.S. I'm glad to report that today my multiple sclerosis is in complete remission. I have given away my crutches and wheelchair and recently had the hand controls in my car removed. To God be the glory.
“A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;” - Ecclesiastes 3:4
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