On being spontaneous.

I went for a swim in the sea today.
It wasn't planned.
I left home early for a meeting.
When it had finished I fancied a swim;
I remembered I had swimwear and a towel in the boot;
The sea was about 30 miles away;
So I turned left instead of right and off I went.

Sadly, 
all wasn't plain sailing from then on in.
It took longer than I'd hoped to get there.
I couldn't find a parking space.
And the tide was out.

But as I set off down the beach,
wishing I'd stopped to buy beach shoes as the pebbles really hurt,
I felt quite proud of my spontaneity.

And then I faced my real moment of truth.

The sea in the UK isn't always the bluest
Or the clearest.
Talk about blind faith

As I hobbled over pebbles
I was thrilled to feel some sand.
But as the sand got softer
and began to squelch,
I'm guessing it wasn't so much sand,
But mud between my toes.

I gave up hobbling and swam.
Arms only as it wasn't deep enough for leg-kicks.
And I was off.
I'd done what I set out to do.
Swimming in the sea.

But then came the return journey
Through the shallows
The squelchy mud
(Bear hunt anyone?)
Then it got slippy.
And I found myself stood on a rock.
Not knowing which way was safest
Least painful
Less slippy.

Sound familiar?

Yes I enjoyed my swim.
But it hurt.
I was afraid on the way there,
And again on the way back.

It wasn't the most dignified of exits.
I didn't emerge like a goddess from the sea.
But I did it.
And lived to tell the tale.

"He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
He set my feet on a rock
And gave me a firm place to stand."
Psalm 40:2


Anyone fancy a swim?










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