A lesson at little beach
Last week, our church staff spent a couple of days together on retreat in Manzanita. We shared meals, laughed a lot, reflected on Communion, and spent time learning about the ways God has wired each of us to work. One of the things I was reminded of is that I have a tendency to do too much at once, which is a polite way of saying I can get excited, move too fast, miss details, and accidentally create problems for myself and others around me.
The day after we got home, I felt like the work God had started in me during the retreat wasn’t quite finished, so I headed back to the coast for some quiet time with the Lord. The weather was perfect, and I brought some crab pots I had borrowed to Little Beach, a small bay just south of Gearhart. I walked along the shoreline, tossing pots into the water and anchoring each one to a piece of driftwood. The tide was rising, the sun was out, and before long I had five pots spread along the bay.
The first pot was full of crab, but they were all female and had to go back. The second was the same. Then I checked the third pot and found a male crab. A keeper. I was thrilled. I emptied the pot, put the crab in a bucket, spun the trap over my head, and launched it as far as I could back into the bay. Then I picked up the bucket and started walking toward the next pot.
After a few steps, I realized my mistake: I had forgotten to anchor the trap.
I turned around and saw the handle already floating out into the bay, pulled farther and farther by the current. If it had been my crab pot, I may have prayerfully discerned whether the Lord was calling me to let it go. But it wasn’t mine. I had borrowed it. So I took off my shirt, shoes, and socks, and looked up to see that I was out of time. The handle had drifted almost too far. It was now or never. So, with my jeans still on, I dove into the freezing water.
Within seconds, my body went into shock. I could barely breathe. I looked back at the shore, then back at the crab pot drifting farther away, and had one very clear thought: “This is how those stories happen.” Thankfully, I reached the handle, grabbed it, and made it back to shore exhausted, soaked, and humbled.
“We must pay the most careful attention, therefore, to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away.”
I realized God had given me a very cold, very soggy, and very literal picture of what happens when I don’t slow down. In my excitement, I rushed ahead and skipped the simple, but essential step of anchoring the pot. And because I missed that detail, I ended up in the water. I think that happens in my spiritual life too. I move from task to task, conversation to conversation, responsibility to responsibility, always thinking about the next thing. I can even be doing good things, like serving, planning, helping, showing up, and still forget to pay attention.
As people. we often forget to anchor ourselves in what we’ve heard, and in the quiet work of the Holy Spirit right in front of us. That scripture from Hebrews is a reminder that drifting often happens through inattention. Not usually all at once, but little by little. A hurried prayer. A missed moment. A conviction we felt but never returned to. A word from God we heard, but didn’t slow down long enough to hold onto.
The funny thing is, even after swimming after the crab pot, the day was still beautiful. Yes, I walked around in wet jeans and got sunburned. But the sun was warm, the beach was peaceful, and in the end I caught enough crab to make a giant plate of fresh homemade crab cakes.
That feels like grace too.
So maybe the invitation this week is simple: slow down, pay attention, and anchor yourself again. Don’t just move through the checklist, and live so far in the future that you miss the grace right in front of you.
The current is real. Drift happens.
With love & gratitude,
Chris Roe
Communications Director