I sat perched high above the beach with an unobstructed view of the ocean. The beach access point was just to the right of my bench. I was enjoying the solitude and the constant crashing and swishing noise of the waves below. It was a time of contemplation and conversing with the Lord. I was in serious discourse with Him about how hard it was to walk in faith and how the sometimes-long episodes without feeling His presence complicated matters. I was being lulled into a quiet thoughtfulness by the sound of the waves. They made me think of the rushing mighty wind on the day of Pentecost and I discussed that with Him and how wonderful that must have been to those who witnessed it. I know ‘faith’ is believing without seeing, but could He not just drop in more frequently to confirm my convictions. I laughed at myself for thinking God should send another rushing mighty wind – it was already windy enough now to blow me off my roost. My muse was disrupted when I saw movement in my peripheral. I turned to see what it was.

An older gentleman. His hair was as white as the caps on the ocean waves, and it stood out like a halo around his head. He wore black shoes, a black sweat suit, and was cloaked with a black knee-length peacoat. The contrast between his white hair and his black attire created a stark yet pleasing distinctiveness. He seemed to struggle some getting down the rocky path to the beach, but I could tell he had maneuvered it before, so I waited and held my breath rather than rush to his aid and embarrass him or myself. He was carrying something in his hand that resembled a large, folded umbrella and he made use of it to steady himself and keep his footing. He moved swiftly along and soon disappeared into the cliffy shadows. He was out of sight for a few moments and when he emerged, I was relieved.

Once out of the rocky umbra, he sauntered down onto the sandy beach toward the waves in a definite direction; he had been there before. Without looking around for the perfect locale on the beach like a transient visitor, he went directly to the emplacement he wanted which just happened to be directly in front of my landing. He methodically unfolded the item in his hand, now revealing itself to be a lawn chair. I was wide awake from my lulling daze now and fully engrossed in people watching – person watching. It was curious, I thought, it is a cloudy morning, blisteringly windy, and almost bitterly cold. Not the sort of day a local would be at the beach. This was a day for all the weary travelers who had spent hard earned money and taken time off from their jobs to come here – they had no choice but to entrust themselves to the weather, rain or shine for a day at the beach. But the locals, they lived close enough to afford the luxury of coming and going as they pleased. They were usually more selective about when they came and were avid weather and tide watchers. Aside from this one stranger… the more I watched the more I was convinced this visit was intentional and for him the weather had no bearing on its ritual.With the chair unfolded, he lowered his body into a comfortable sitting position, crossed his legs, and rested. He sat patiently as though waiting for the tide to roll in – like it had every day before. There was some sort of peace that exuded from him – from his presence – I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was as powerful in holding my attention as the perpetual waves had been. The crashing sounds of the blue-grey water bounding onto the beach in endless rolls was now muffled by this resident sojourner and my contemplations concerning him. My imagination was in a frenzy, and I wanted a time stamp of when he had come – I snapped a picture with my phone.

He sat. I watched.

All around there was activity, but not the slightest movement from him, or me. It was as though our eternal persons had somehow become entwined together in this peaceful cloud of oblivion that no one else had been alerted to.

There were children running past to catch a wave, and running back with cheers, or screams, from the cold splashing they had endured. He was not distracted. Seagulls jumped around his feet in search of food left by previous visitors. His position remained unchanged. A couple was slow dancing to the orchestra created by the seas and surf, gliding along on the gentle sand floor just beyond his chair. He was unmoved.

My resourceful intellect was getting the best of me now and I wondered if he was even still breathing. Had he come to his favorite spot to sit one last time – would he leave on his own two feet with the help of his folding chair, or had he already been swooped up by angels – his body left for the tide. Or was he simply sleeping. I had experienced earlier the spell of the atmosphere lulling one into a sleepy stupor. It was easy to conceive given his closeness to the water how much quicker that would happen. The sound must be deafening at that location. It didn’t matter. I could not take my eyes off him. I could not break free from the overpowering curiosity I was experiencing. The connection between us was too great to ignore now and I knew it was a spiritual one. Was he speaking with the Lord as I had been before he so gracefully interrupted.

He rested. I anticipated.

The sun was burning through the marine layer now and the tide was creeping in closer to his feet. Yet we sat unmoved – he in his chair and I on my perch. Waiting. Anticipating. Resting.

When the tide waters had gotten just up to his feet, he stood up; he folded his chair; and he started the incline up the stony path to the crest where I was still observing. He strolled back across the beach in a mysterious fashion that alluded to my thoughts of our spiritual connection. I waited anxiously for him to emerge from the shadows so I could give him a smile or nod in acknowledgment to our connection – but he did not. I waited. Still nothing. I stood and looked around. I followed along the path with my eyes – nothing. I waited longer. I walked around looking for another access point – nothing. Others were emerging from the trail. One way in; one way out and it was at the right of my perch. Everything was quiet and still as though time had stopped. The sky was calm now and the wind had turned into a gentle afternoon breeze. I realized I was not panicked, but rather, I was getting excited. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure everyone else could hear it over the oceanic chorus. My feet dancing to the beat of the waves as I frantically searched for him.

I did not want to find him – I wanted to believe. Could it be. Could it really be!

There was nowhere left to look so I walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down at the beach where he had been sitting. There was not a single footprint in the sand – nothing to prove anyone had walked from here to there, nothing that indicated dancing by a couple in the morning mood of the moors, no pitter patter impressions from children running back and forth, and no scratch marks from the large birds that hopped about him – nothing! Nothing except for four little holes in the sand, impressions that had been made from the feet of his chair.

I could hear the waves again now. They were harsher, wetter sounding and no longer possessed the serenity of a softly played flute as they had earlier. My full attention back to ocean view now, I began to understand what had just happened. I reflected on my earlier conversation with the Lord, the alliance between myself and a disappearing stranger, the overwhelming peace that his presence had expelled, and the spiritual connection we had shared. I became flooded by the presence of my Lord and overwhelmed with an indescribable joy. The peace in my heart was warring against the excitedness in my mind. One way in; one way out. Where did he come from; where did he go.

Had I really been lulled into a peace-filled state by the sound of whispering waves, or had it been the sound of an angels’ wings rustling in the wind as he descended onto a beach to sit in a chair – directly in front of my landing.

You decide. I’ll wait.