Promise Seeds

One day while directed by the Father, Phillip found himself at the Peconic River behind the old Swezey’s department store seated next to a sullen young woman with a ruddy complexion. He started a conversation about the majesty of swans and more precisely of the one swimming in the river before them. As directed, he turned his comments down a biblical path and began talking about the protective cover of the shadow of God’s wing available to anyone in despair who seeks him and not merely his benefits. Saying nothing, the woman stared into Phillip’s eyes and then stood up. She never said a word but looked at the swan and the water peacefully rippling around it. As she started to walk away to find an empty bench, Phillip spoke with an urgency reflected in the volume and the pace of his voice. “The beauty of some water birds …” he began.

She moved only one leg forward and then stopped as Phillip continued, his pleading reflected in his much softer voice and the question added to his sentence. “The beauty of some water birds is best observed from a distance. Wouldn’t you agree?” The woman, who was considering giving herself to the waves, was shocked into life. She slowly sat down beside him. She didn’t know why, so she found it easier to stare straight ahead. He continued, “Water inhaled sounds like an excruciatingly painful way to die. Christ offers a daily death where living water flows from inside you outward, and it’s quite glorious. God told me to tell you today, ‘You shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.’ He asked me to meet you right at this spot. Having done so, my time here is up.” Phillip turned to face her after he rose to leave.

She stared straight at him. Her eyes implored him to stay awhile longer, but he was resolute in his plan to leave. She wondered how a caring person who claimed to hear from God could leave her alone at the river’s edge. He had revealed so much without mentioning directly what she had spent a week working up the courage to do. He answered her unspoken concern by letting her know she wasn’t alone. “The angel on your left, right there,” Phillip said, pointing to the empty space on the bench and pausing briefly to look at the spot. “He has been with you for some time now, and he will minister to you.”

Phillip closed his eyes and bowed his head. He saw the razor in her hand, the tub filled with water, and the angel. He gave a deep sigh and said, “Thank you, Jesus.” His heart flooded with paternal concern that forced its way into his facial expression. He tilted his head to the side. With an empathetic look that reflected the hurt and the despair she felt, he said softly, “It wasn’t your clumsy fingers that caused the razor to fall into the sink a couple of weeks ago as you took one last look in the mirror.” Pointing to the angel she couldn’t see, Phillip said, “He’s quite adept at knocking things aside that should never have been there in the first place.”

The woman played with the single charm on a bracelet where the scar might have been. The black letters WW sat boldly etched in glass surrounded by gold protecting the perimeter from chips. The charm hung on a sturdy black band. Willamina Watson was the paternal great-grandmother she never knew, but the woman drew comfort from a sense of protection she imagined. She turned to look at the empty space and furrowed her brow. “Your friend is here to minister to you as he has done so many times without your knowledge, and after you’ve had your cry, Jesus said he’ll take it from there.”

The woman realized that she wasn’t listening to just anyone. She was hearing one who walked with God. She wanted to ask his name, and she wanted to give him hers. “Wha—”

“My name’s not important, and neither is my knowing yours. If you could see what I see, you’d understand who sits beside you now and who will be seated there shortly.” He paused. “The Lord said I can tell you that in a few minutes you will see.”

The woman was overwhelmed, and the floodgates opened. Phillip strode off along the boardwalk. He was to give no more words of comfort beyond the cryptic “in a few minutes you will see” and to offer no shoulder for the broken woman. God told Phillip the angel would do that and that he would take over for the angel when her heart was pliable enough for him to begin her conversion from the inside out. Walking westward, Phillip neared Peconic Road. He stopped and looked back before crossing the road to walk along the other side of the river and to take in the water reflecting the colors of early fall before heading home. Turning for one last look, he heard Jesus say, “Sea glass! Red, rare, resplendent sea glass.” Phillip smiled to himself and to God, and he praised the Lord as he crossed the street. She was behind him now, and he imagined silica sand heated to incredible temperatures that resulted in viscous molten glass. He thought of the marver, the paddles, the tweezers, and the blowpipe, but he shuddered at the thought of the three furnaces that play a role in producing glass. Lord, Phillip thought, she was made without inviting you along although you were there without her knowledge. His mind moved from the furnaces to the discarded broken glass that made its way into salt water to churn among the sand, rocks, and broken shells.