Needle in a Haystack Part 6
June 28, 2026
Needle in a Haystack Part 6
Today, I reflect while in a sacred holding environment—the beach where I spent every summer of my childhood. These sands hold countless memories: surf fishing, swimming beyond the sandbar, tumbling in waves far stronger than I was, and building magnificent sandcastles destined to disappear with the tide.
There were days we boated into the deep blue Gulf and circled the towering oil rigs. I remember when our friends, Hank and Ginny Turpin, flew us above the coastline in their little Cessna. From the sky, we could see it all at once: the brilliant white beaches, Mobile Bay, Dauphin Island, and the brown bay waters slowly surrendering themselves to the green, then blue Gulf of Mexico.
Even the sand tells a story. Long ago, the Appalachian Mountains eroded, and ancient rivers carried quartz and minerals into the Gulf. Wind and water wore away everything softer until only quartz remained; over eons it was ground into the fine powder beneath our feet today. When we walk barefoot here, pressing our feet into the crystals, the sand squeaks softly—as if the earth itself remembers.
But the sea is not always gentle. Rip tides and undertows have carried people away. Hurricanes have scarred these shores and reshaped this narrow peninsula. Many have lost homes; some have lost far more. The sea gives beauty, but it also reminds us we are never fully in control. During the oil spill, Lark and I found a panicked young seabird flopping helplessly in the surf. The oil and sand weighed her down. Helpless, she could not fly. She was a juvenile great northern gannet with the wingspan of five feet. A rescue team came, took her, and revived her— she flew again.
And yet sometimes the sand and sea become unexpectedly generous. Sometimes the beach sand parts to make tidal pools of quiet water that invites us to wade in. Our family friend, Charlotte Cody, once lost her ruby ring while sitting on the beach. It was gone, like a needle in a haystack. She searched frantically, but it had vanished into the sand. A year later, sitting in the very same spot, she saw something glimmering beside her. It was the ring, returned by the beach itself.
Today, once again, I take it all in with gratitude. Before me is the narrow path through the dunes leading to the shore—a path I have walked countless times. And every time, Spirit shows me something else. I may hear echoes of our children laughing as they chased sand crabs across the beach. A porpoise may rise from the water as if to say, I see you. A piece of driftwood may appear at my feet, asking to be carried home and cherished.
I will laugh at memories that still delight me, and perhaps I weep for those who once walked beside me on these squeaky, shining sands—those who walked beside me through life who I miss so very much.
If the beach were compared to a haystack with a needle hidden somewhere in its straws, it would be like trillions and trillions of haystacks that carried endless amounts of treasures seen and unseen.
Spiritual Practice
Have you come aside recently to be in a special holding environment? What are the elements that make a sacred holding environment for you— the terrain, the shelter, the atmosphere, the smells, the sounds? What memories does your sacred holding environment evoke for you?
Inquiry
What makes your sacred holding environment special to you, like finding a needle in a haystack?
Prayer
Dear God, I breathe it all in. I am so grateful. Amen
