THE SANDPIPER....

[Guest guest]

This story doesn't ask anyone to forward it or take any action other than

to read and enjoy. By the way... I wish you a sandpiper.

The Sandpiper

by

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.

"," I answered. "I'm ."

"Mine's ... I'm six."

"Hi, ."

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."

The next few days consisted 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?" < /div>

"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, 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 . 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 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 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 . I missed your little girl today and

wondered where she was."

"Oh yes, Mr. , please come in. 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.

" died last week, Mr. . 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 's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so

sorry, I'm so sorry," I uttered 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 . 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 read by many

and now I share it with you..

May God Bless everyone who 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.