In 2009, I embarked into new quests to figure out who I was and what I need from life. Having the luxury to do so, part of my journey landed me on a solitary camping trip. At the beach – the Outer Banks, specifically.
Honestly, after a year of increasingly seeing that I felt a deep void somewhere inside myself, I reached out to God. This interest in finding my Faith probably started as soon as I rejected religion as I had known it at the age of 13. Yet, suddenly, I was 29, and more unsure of my purpose than I had ever been before.
In the stereotypical “fight or flight” fashion, I was generally a woman to grab a kite whizzing by and pray it whisked me far away from my problems. I have only ever wanted to feel passionate about what I pursue in my life, but somehow always felt I was in the wrong place. Move away, and everything would be the way it was meant.
One of the few areas of my life that I believed in fighting for was in my relationships. When I was in my 20s, however, my bleeding heart often kept me in friendships with toxic people. People who I knew had so much potential, but they played the victim over and over in their lives, refusing to change or take accountability.
Marc was the exception – the one person I never pushed away (too hard) – because I knew he was My Person. His belief in me and ability to really love me (not say it, but be it) continued to surprise me. Increasingly though, I knew that love alone was not enough to sustain the long journey of life. I needed clarity. I needed to trust (myself, to become whom I am meant to be, to surround myself with genuine people, and to be vulnerable to those I love).
I needed Faith.
I knew I had to distance myself from all the distractions so that God and I could have a session. My avoidances included the joy of air conditioning. After all, air conditioning means I am in a hotel room… not in nature, closer with what I sought. Also, having air conditioning meant I would likely have a TV, and people to talk with. Hello, Distractions.
I set up my tent, called Marc to let him know I was safe, and cooked dinner. Well after dark rose and humidity plummeted, I walked out onto the desolate beach. I walked and walked before I felt like, what’s the point. I sat down in the sand. I watched the waves in the moonlight.
“What do you want from me? What now?” I yelled out. I burst into tears. I sobbed until I stopped. “I’m here! Please tell me what I need to know!” I cried.
I picked myself and began the walk back in the dark.
Somehow through the ferocity of the waves, I heard a slapping noise in front of me. I turned on my flashlight for the first time all night to find a baby stingray, about two feet from wing to wing, washed ashore. As the waves would rush onto the beach, they would merely lap at the stingray, teasing it before washing away without it.
For the next half hour, I submerged myself into trying to get my little buddy back out to sea. I used the only stick I could find on the beach… I used a piece of broken rope debris. I got on my knees and began digging out the sand from around and under the stingray, thinking surely the physics of it would take him back.
My every effort only seemed to hinder my fellow friend from returning home. The rope seemed to turn his wing under, which I feared may injure or hurt him. The digging first only washed him further up the tide line, then worked to create a lovely little moat around him as if he were a sand castle.
In the end, I did the only thing I had left to do… I prayed. I prayed that God would save his creature, as I could not. I prayed God would not let the little guy suffer, and that maybe I simply did not understand that perhaps this was normal and he would make it back to sea. I prayed for God to resolve my heart to knowing I could not do anything further to help the stingray, and at that moment, no one could except God.
So angry at my ineptitude, I walked away from the stingray. I turned my light back off and walked the remaining miles praying and crying. In the morning, the stingray was gone from the beach. In fact, no sign he had ever been there existed.
My trip did not result in hearing a booming voice-over commentary from God, directing me what to do or what to believe. I did not see an image in the sand of Jesus.
I did see a baby bird that had leapt from his next in the tree by my tent, trying to hide from me as I caught photos of him. I did see a long black snake scamper across the sand at my tent, leaving a beautiful pattern in the sand that I later lay in. I saw the sparkle of thousands of sand spiders’ eyes in the weeds and brush at night as I walked with my flashlight. I saw many bunnies playing among the dunes near my tent during all hours of the day.
The trip was a milestone in my journey, however. A stepping stone into believing.
I learned that sometimes God knocks you in the head to get your attention. He prefers to whisper, however.
I learned that God needed me to realize that I cannot save the stingray. I cannot save anyone. Heck, I cannot save myself. I can only seek the tools and life that create positive energy and change.
I learned that I had the audacity and strength – the faith in myself – to camp alone. To take care of myself. To be self-sufficient in a world that often scares me deeply.
Now, the Outer Banks are one of the most important places in my life. Faith is the most important thing in my life. Listening for the whispers have become my most important goal in life. I gave my trust to myself, and a few months later, Marc and I became engaged. At the Outer Banks, not coincidentally. I may not have the answers, to anything really, but I finally am open to the possibilities.
I refer to the trip often, and I realized I never really shared with you this leg of my journey (nor did I explain in this novella how I knew I had to take this journey). So here it is. A thousand steps before leading here… several more steps since that lead to now.
Most appropriately, just like my journey to Faith, I have no idea how to finish this post. I guess, like my journey, and like yours, the ending is not really up to me. My job is only to learn what wisdom I can and enjoy the ride while I am here…
And onward we go,
Ashley Sue
Wait for it…