A sandpiper to bring you joy

Sandpiper
Sandpiper

by Mary Sherman Hilbert.

Several years ago, a neighbor related to me an experience that happened to her on a beach in Washington State. The incident stuck in my mind and I took note of what she said. Later, the conversation came back to me and I felt I had to set it down. Here is her story, as haunting to me now as when I first heard it:

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.

“Ruth,” I answered. “I’m Ruth 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, Mrs. 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, Mrs. 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 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 Ruth Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was.”

“Oh yes, Mrs. 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, Mrs. 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 “MRS. 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 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.

15 thoughts on “A sandpiper to bring you joy

  1. That truly was touching and inspiring. A true lesson of the heart indeed. We often are unaware of how fortunate we are and care little about others. It’s time to open the heart of many to the language of love. Thank you Mary for sharing this very beautiful message. I will always remember it for my students, family and friends.

    With grateful appreciation,

    Maxim

  2. Hi Mary

    I have read this one before, but I will read it every time, as it’s so inspiring and it keeps me grounded, to always remember there might be someone else out there that is worse off than me…..beautiful story, thanks for sharing it again…

    Lyn

  3. Awwwwwww..I have no words…and that fact means a lot…soooooooooo beautiful! Thank You!!!:)

  4. And again I have to say: I’m without words!! And I cannot write, because I’m again in tears! That’s soooo amazing! Children are the BEST!!! Little BIG ANGELS! I know why am I fighting for!! And I always be aware of this!!
    Love and Peace!!!

  5. From the mouths of babes……..I’m crying tears “happy sad”. Acts + words of love, from the heart, can penetrate + soften the hardest rock. What a truly special child was Wendy whose Mum is a precious jewel. I now plan to seek my own Sandpiper + name her Wendy. A million thanks for sharing this with me + and raising me onto a cloud of serenity. May you send it far + wide. Love Nuala

  6. Sometimes in the race of life, we forget … forget true values, ​the good things before us and also give less value to what we really need. We enjoy the shade and color, from a beach or forest, to give more of us every time … the positive is in our minds at every moment and we choose to think at every moment. I like stories that give us pause to see beyond what we should be positive.

  7. speechless and drenched in tears.

    harmony, courage and undemanding love. might be the meaning to life. the tapestry of life that god has sewn utterly amazes me.

  8. Algunas veces los seres humanos asumimos nuestras propias ideas…creemos que las otras personas actuan de alguna manera sin mayor razon, sin embargo, el balance en el amor y entre la consideracion y el coraje siempre deben de estar en nuestros pensamientos. Ademas vemos que la abundancia y la felicidad se encuentran donde estemos dependiendo de nuestra disposicion. Gran leccion!…disfrutemos lo que tenemos y a los que tenemos cerca!.

    1. Hi Newman,

      I have found that the more you can BE love, the more you can SHOW love. Love is what you are, underneath, deep down. So to BE love you have to go deep… and you do that by the consistent and earnest practice of meditation.

      Mike

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