A Gift from the Sea, again

I passed along a copy of “Gifts from the Sea,” to a friend of mine the other day.

A few weeks ago we had been at the funeral of a beautiful and dear young man who had taken his own life and as we grieved, we wondered about how his mother, or any mother, could ever survive such a loss.

Afterwards, I sent my friend a copy of a book by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, a simple little book which I have read time and again to remind me of who I want to be and how I want to live.

I was drawn to Lindbergh as a young mother because once I met and fell in love with my children, I could not imagine how I would ever survive should something to happen to them.

Anne Lindbergh was the wife of the famed aviator, Charles. After his historic solo-flight across the Atlantic in 1927 he became a “rock star” of sorts, but he and Anne paid dearly for his fame when their infant son was kidnapped from his crib and brutally killed.

I can’t imagine how she ever recovered, but Anne went on to raise five children and in the process wrote this amazing little book about how to find peace amid chaos in the insanity of today’s world. It is a book I return to again and again, because I continually forget the message and need to be reminded.

She wrote “Gifts from the Sea” while she was alone in an old cabin on an island, surrounded by the ocean. In the pages of the little book, she described how she had left her family for a few days and described the pain she felt at removing herself. She also wrote that she felt a great necessity to do so in an effort to stave off all the demands that she faced at the time, spinning like a wheel in the middle of so many complex relationships and tasks.

On her little island, she sought a way to be a peace in the center of a wheel and noted that her central question was “how to remain strong no matter what shocks come in at the periphery and tend to crack the hub.”

Lindbergh offered no perfect solutions but suggested, like so many others seeking wellness and wholeness, a simplification of life and a reverence for the ebbs and flows of peace and joy and sadness.

I didn’t know whether my friend would enjoy the book or not, but I noticed several walls in her home were covered with paintings of ocean scenes, so I hoped that the book might touch her as it has always touched me.

She wrote me shortly afterwards and said she was in the process of reading the book and was enjoying it very much. I was so grateful that she too seemed drawn to the gentle thoughts and words of a woman who had risen above the worst life has to offer and who had gone to the ocean to find peace.

I too feel drawn to the oceans. I think they are a magnificent representation of life, holding potential for disaster and destruction yet hypnotically beautiful and sacred.

Life is so much like an ocean. It can drop you to your knees or raise you up in amazing grace. We cannot always protect or save loved our ones from their decisions or their destiny and sometimes there is horror in that. But, what we can all do is lovingly reach for the solace and balm of human connections and share with each other the guideposts and wisdom of those who have already passed this way.

Originally printed in Niagara Living Magazine 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *