Our prompt for April was to write about something that washed up on the beach.
It was one of those days. Who invented the snooze button, anyway? Alarm clocks are not so user friendly when the user is half asleep. Thelma peered at the numbers that told her she was going to be late for work, again. She shuffled to the bathroom where the harsh light reflected the toll the years had taken on her body. Laugh lines, frown lines, she had them all. Even in places no one laughs or frowns. Apparently, she needed more ‘belly laughs.’ She sighed and ran the brush through her hair, and decided she had better call work to report her expected late arrival. Only this time, her boss told her to take the rest of the day off, and they’d talk the next morning. “Oh, I’ve gone and done it now,” she thought.
The urge to crawl back in bed was strong, but Thelma knew that would solve nothing. It had not worked in the past. She pulled on her capris and tank top, and opted to visit the beach, maybe the salty air would clear her head and revive her lagging spirit.
She unfolded the sand chair and balanced it on the shifting sand where the waves and shore collide, and plopped down. She felt as washed up as the bits of broken and battered shells surrounding her. Out of desperation more so than a prayer, she sighed, “Lord, what am I going to do?”
There was a lot of activity at the water that day, boats, jet skis, paddleboards; and tots building castles at water’s edge. Her eyes glimpsed a man on a paddleboard, who seemed to be coming straight toward her. As he neared, she realized he wasn’t on a paddleboard. She didn’t know it yet, but Help was on the way.
Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you will honor me.