Sweet love
stories can inspire romance even if they aren't
necessarily about romantic love. Just reading something
about true love of any kind can make you feel more
appreciative of the love in your life. This is a
very beautiful story defining the true beauty of the heart and the events that
sometimes unrepentantly may cause one's heart to break out of it's self made shell.
The Sandpiper
by Robert Peterson
This is a true story:
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I
drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world
begins to close in on me. She was building a sand castle or something and looked
up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
“Hello,” she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.
“I’m building,” she said.
“I see that. What is it?” I asked, not really caring.
“Oh, I don’t know, I just like the feel of sand.”
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes
A sandpiper glided by.
“That’s a joy,” the child said.
“It’s a what?”
“It’s a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us
joy.”
The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself, hello
pain, and turned to walk on.
I was depressed, my life seemed completely out of balance.
“What’s your name?” She wouldn’t give up.
“Robert,” I answered. “I’m Robert Peterson.”
“Mine’s Wendy... I’m six.”
“Hi, Wendy.” She giggled.
“You’re funny,” she said.
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed
me.
“Come again, Mr. P,” she called. “We’ll have another happy day.”
After a few days of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing
mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the
dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.
The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I
strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
“Hello, Mr. P,” she said. “Do you want to play?”
“What did you have in mind?” I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
“I don’t know, you say.”
“How about charades?” I asked sarcastically.
The tinkling laughter burst forth again. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Then let’s just walk.”
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“Over there.” She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
Strange, I thought, in winter. “Where do you go to school?”
“I don’t go to school. Mommy says we’re on vacation.”
She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on
other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no
mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt
like demanding she keep her child at home.
“Look, if you don’t mind,” I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, “I’d
rather be alone today.” She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.
“Why?” she asked.
I turned to her and shouted, “Because my mother died!"and I thought, My God, why
was I saying this to a little child?
“Oh,” she said quietly, “then this is a bad day.”
“Yes,” I said, “and yesterday and the day before and oh, go away!”
“Did it hurt?” she inquired.
“Did what hurt?” I was exasperated with her, with myself.
“When she died?”
“Of course it hurt!” I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I
strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn’t there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to
the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman
with honey-colored hair opened the door.
“Hello,” I said, “I’m Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and
wondered where she was.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I’m afraid I
allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies.”
“Not at all—she’s a delightful child.” I said, suddenly realizing that I meant
what I had just said.
“Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn’t tell
you.”
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.
“She loved this beach so when she asked to come, we couldn’t say no. She seemed
so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the
last few weeks, she declined rapidly..” Her voice faltered, “She left
something for you ... if only I can find it.
Could you wait a moment while I look?”
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young
woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with “MR. P” printed in bold
childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues—a yellow beach, a
blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.
Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened
wide. I took Wendy’s mother in my arms. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m
so sorry,” I muttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little
picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words—one for each year of
her life—that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.
A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand—who taught me
the gift of love.
NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. It happened over 20
years ago and the incident changed his life forever. It serves as a reminder
to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other.
The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.
Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can make us
lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a momentary setback
or crisis. This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all
means, take a moment...even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the
roses. This comes from someone’s heart, and is shared with many and now I share
it with you.
May God Bless everyone that receives this! There are NO coincidences!
Everything that happens to us happens for a reason. Never brush aside anyone
as insignificant. Who knows what they can teach us?
I wish for you, a sandpiper !
