"Hold my hand, daddy"

One of my favorite things about living in Southern California is the many places to discover and enjoy, even on a moments notice. This is especially true of the beautiful beaches that line the coast. Yesterday afternoon, I found myself at one of these places. Just south of Sea World, where the 8 fwy ends, I read a sign that read Ocean Beach. As I quickly found a spot on the street without a No Parking sign to leave my car, I couldn't wait for my toes to touch the sand. At first my impatience landed me at the Dog Beach, where the pungency of dog urine was overwhelming. But I soon made my way to other side where only people were enjoying the warm sand, cool breeze and crashing waves.

I rolled up my jeans, put my feet in the water and let them bury in the wet sand. And I stood. Fip-flops in hand. Thinking. Praying. Watching.

There were surfers, and boogy boarders, and sandcastle-makers all around. But what I noticed most was a dad standing knee high in the water, calling to his daughter to join him. She was standing safely on the beach, covered in sand, wearing a seemingly dry lifejacket. She was visibly tentative about the thought of going out into the water. But the dad kept calling, beckoning her to join him. This nervous child finally made her way to her daddy's hand only long enough for her pitter-pattering feet to run away when a wave came. But eventually with the woo-ing of her dad, the young girl was waist deep, laughing and jumping.

As entertaining as this little scene was to me, I couldn't help but think of my own relationship with Daddy God. Is there more that he's calling me to do or experience? Am I equipped, with swimsuit and lifevest, but still playing safely in the sand? Am I running from the ankle-deep waves when there is an entire ocean before me?

What about you? Can you hear him woo-ing?