I live very close to Lake Michigan. A 10-minute drive takes me to the water’s edge, where I can see the blue stretch out endlessly, far past the lighthouse that they call “Old Red.” Today the lake looked like glass, cracked and chipped around the edges where everything remained frozen, rippled and alive out towards the horizon. I love that lakes can hold two truths at once— hardened shallows, churning depths.
I thought of the sand dune that climbed high above the beach and wondered what I would be able to take in from above.
I should have turned around at the trailhead of the sand dune. Nothing had been plowed, snow was stacked high, and I was wearing a pair of sparkly TOMS from church this morning.
Rounding the bend through the naked trees, catching my balance more than once, I found the stairs of the boardwalk to take me to the top. In truth, the phrase, “found the stairs” may be misleading. I found the snow that buried the stairs of the boardwalk.
Gripping the railing that had not been entirely consumed in snow, I started the traverse, wishing I had thought to bring my ice pick with me (oh wait, I don’t live in the tundra). I kicked at the snow to create ledges for my bedazzled feet. Inevitably I would think to myself, “I’ve got the hang of this,” only to have my feet slide backward and my elbows suddenly propping my face up in the slushy snow yet again. But the top did not disappoint.
The grey of the horizon felt right— an uneasy brooding of clouds with a kiss of pink from the sinking sun in the west. And then there was the lake, asleep but stirring, with whispers of summer days and lapping waves to be heard from the beach that was finally beginning to appear as it drank up the melting snow. Cold does not reign victor forever.
When I had taken in my fill, I turned to the descent and found myself struck by a notion: “Why not slide to the bottom?”
I tucked up onto the tail of my long winter coat and proceeded to slip, roll and check myself down the winding slope that had been so arduous to scrape my way up. The snow began to pile into my coat as I slid, soaking my jeans. I didn’t care. A young couple climbing up as I rocketed down laughed with me. “I’ll have to try that!” I heard the guy call out to me. “Enjoy the top!!” I shouted back.
The bottom found me happy, cold, invigorated. Thoughts that felt heavy before the climb had floated away in the beauty of the escapade. I strolled back to my car and began the sunny drive home.
Nearing the house, I reached into the pocket of my jacket for my phone. My fingers poked around in vain and my stomach fell through the floor.
“No, no, no!!!!’ I started whispering, pulling over to search the nooks and crannies of my car. Hot tears started pooling up in my eyes. The phone was two weeks old, and I now knew I had left it in the slushy snow of the buried sand dune.
As I lurched out of the parking lot to speed back to the hillside, the scolding began. “How could you be so stupid?! You should have known that could have happened or at least checked your pocket at the bottom. Where will you even look?! It could be pushed aside, buried, damaged… and what about the 15 people walking towards the trail as you left?! They will pick it up and never find you, and it’s locked, no one will be able to call one of your contacts. What were you thinking, Stupid?”
On and on the thoughts numbly tumbled and I didn’t have the presence of mind to quiet my harshest critique.
I veered into the parking lot. It looked like most of the same cars were still parked, with one beat up sedan idling in the lot. I snatched up a paper to tape to my windshield and started writing words that felt so ridiculous to me: “If you found a gold cell phone, it is mine and I am searching the dune, could you leave it and this note under my—”
“WE HAVE IT!!!!”
The pencil froze as I turned in disbelief. The sedan had pulled close with the window rolled down. Tears swam in my eyes again. It was the couple from my slide down.
“We looked for you the whole way down, we have your phone!”
It felt so important for them to know, I didn’t hide anything in my eyes as I leaned down to meet theirs, “Thank you so much.”
Their smiles were big as they passed the phone my way, and I watched them drive away in that rusted black car.
~
I have learned that life offers wild, reckless opportunities. It takes courage and a willing foolishness to embrace those moments, to live large. But a large, full life requires something else—faith to be kind and curious when it seems our wild adventures have failed us, leading us back to a powerlessness we have sworn to avoid.
I am learning the powerlessness is where Jesus shows up, in a beat up sedan, because he’s been looking for us and already knows our needs. That’s where true, stunning grace begins.
 
Katy Johnson lives, dreams, writes, and edits in a messy, watercolored world. She’s a 24 year old, discovering her hope, her longings, and the wild spaces in her own heart. Her favorite creative project right now is called The Someday Writings, and someday, she may let those writings see the light of day. For now, she is honored to be a part of Red Tent Living.
&nb
sp
Love, love, love this! I love that you embraced every part of the adventure – climbing in “bedazzled” feet, sliding down that crazy slope, and recognizing the goodness of a wild Jesus who met you in the rusted out sedan. Such a great reminder to live large!
Thank you, Janet. It was such a sweet, wild day…
“faith to be kind and curious when it seems our wild adventures have failed us, leading us back to a powerlessness we have sworn to avoid.” This is a powerful set of words about choices available to us in the face of powerlessness. The story is perfect and I love that you lived into all the beauty of it. And of course He’s in a beat up sedan……of course.
I am growing more and more comfortable with the rusty sedan 😉 Me and Jesus, rolling in style.
So well written….true.
Thank you, Kay. It was fun to bring the story to life with my words and I am glad it rang true with you.
Love your words Katy…and all the emotions you embraced. Your words encourage and inspire 🙂
Thanks, Tracy… I am so glad! Also, come home, I miss you 😉
Oh my gosh, Katy! I loved every word. I would have loved a photo of the couple when they handed you the phone. Isn’t it amazing when Jesus shows up like that. SO glad you have your new phone. You are a fun, wild one! Great writing and loved your photos.
Thank you, Becky!! I wish I could show you their faces… I wondered afterwards if they were literally angels, they did have a kind of glow to them 😉
What an awesome story! It is something I would totally do, and the reaction I would have had! Thank you for sharing and reminding me today of life’s beauty, and FUN! And that Jesus loves us THAT much.
I am glad you were reminded of goodness, Ruth. Thanks.
Thank you, Katy Lady! Such fun…such freedom…such beauty! I miss you!
Mary Jane! Thank you… and come home, I am sure the sun is lovely, but we need you here 😉
Loved your words and your style- I felt like I was right there -cold – wet and wild ! I could feel your angst as you discovered your phone missing – hope reigned over fear of loss – your tears had words!
Elaine, happy to have you along for the ride. Thank you for reading.
What a beautiful description of life lived fully! Love, love, love your honest and descriptive story of loss and redemption. I so wanted to join you on the slide down the hill and to witness the pure joy and relief of the couple handing you the phone. Amazing grace is so sweet!
God’s got your back, sweet Katy! In a beat up sedan, no less. But, seriously, Tom’s in the snow? Is this a Michigan thing? Like Californians in flip-flops year round? Never mind. Thanks for sharing a bit of the winter wonderland that was your afternoon.
This story is amazing simply because you are amazing. I loved it! I enjoyed the places where you took us regarding our powerlessness and the response vs. the invitation. Thank you!