Driftwood Cross
By Craig Ruhl
Driftwood Beach is on Jekyll Island in the Golden Isles area of Georgia. Karen and I visited the area the year before last, thoroughly enjoyed the trip, and plan to return at the earliest opportunity. At the time of our visit, my health prevented me from wandering very far without the aid of a rollator (a walker on wheels with a bench seat). Karen ventured out onto the beach with her camera while I remained in the van. With the aid of the photos Karen took and my often-unruly imagination, I concocted the following fictional story. I may have made it up, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have happened. You are the judge.
Skipper slipped off his sneakers and tip-toed onto the sandy stretch of beach just off the paved parking lot. His dad followed behind, towing a cooler on wheels, a blanket, and folding chairs. Being just 11 years old excused Skipper from lugging anything heavy, which was good because it was hard enough just to walk upright in the now loose and shifting sand. Once they rounded a point in the bay, a vast coastline opened before them. What lay ahead looked like a petrified forest sculpture that was planted in the sand all up the beach. What a strange sight, all these tree-like shapes and not a leaf on any of them. Turning to his dad, Skipper asked, “Why don’t these trees have leaves? It’s summer and they should have green leaves.”
“Son, those aren’t trees anymore.” Skipper’s dad replied. “They were once, but they died and somehow ended up in the water. Then, during a storm, they probably washed up on the beach.”
Skipper thought about that for a few minutes as they continued walking out toward the water’s edge. He had never seen dead trees, except in the woods where he and his dad had camped the year before. He questioned his dad. “Didn’t the trees sink to the bottom of the water? How could they get to the beach? I just don’t know about this.”
“Well, dead trees float on the water, just like you learned to do in swimming class.” Skipper’s dad continued, “The adult word for a tree in the water would be flotsam, but we usually call it driftwood because it just drifts on top of the water and goes where the wind and waves take it. That’s the name of this beach—Driftwood Beach. They named it that because there are so many dead trees that washed up on the sand.”
Finding a magnificent spot, they spread out their blanket and set up the chairs facing the water. The sun was just passing overhead and that meant it was just about lunchtime. On the way to the beach, Skipper and his dad stopped at the little market near the beach and picked up picnic supplies for the day. Now they worked together to fix lunch–ham and cheese sandwiches, little bags of chips, and cans of root beer.
After lunch, Skipper asked his dad if he could wander over to some of the nearby driftwood forms and check them out. His dad agreed, with the warning, “Stay in sight of me and do not wander farther than that. The water is off-limits until I go in with you.”
Promising to obey, Skipper set off on a jagged course across the sand. Reaching the first outcropping of driftwood, he quickly rejected it as boring. Looking around, he spied what looked like something he had seen in his grandpa’s garden, except the one at his grandpa’s had clothes hanging on it and a hat. He couldn’t remember what it was called, only that it was supposed to keep birds from eating all the seeds in the garden. The driftwood tree he was looking at on the beach was bare and pretty crooked looking. Curious, Skipper walked closer, turning to make sure he could still see his dad. When he looked back, he noticed that an old man was lying on a towel at the base of the tree. He wasn’t sleeping because he was reading from a book and seemed to talk to himself. Not being very brave, Skipper hesitated to get any closer and sat down to think about what he would do next.
“Are you okay, son?” His father asked as he touched his shoulder from behind. “I saw you walk off and then you sat down, and I was worried you had hurt yourself.”
“No, I am feeling good,” Skipper answered. “I wanted to look at that tree over there, but the man there was talking to himself, so I waited.”
Skipper’s dad shaded his eyes with a hand and, looking in the direction Skipper was pointing, said, “Let’s walk over there together and introduce ourselves.”
“Can we?” Skipper asked excitedly. “I really want to see what that tree looks like close up. It’s different from the other ones on the beach.”
As they approached the driftwood, the man lying there got up and smiled. “Welcome, friends! It is a beautiful day. God is in His heaven, and all is right with the world. My name is William.”
“Hello, yourself.” Skipper’s dad replied. “I am Sam, and this is my son, Skipper. It is indeed a wonderful day, and the Lord has blessed us with great favor.”
William motioned to where Sam and Skipper had set up for lunch and said, “I noticed you over there a bit earlier. Would you like to sit with me for a bit? I was just finishing my Bible reading and time with the Lord.”
“We wouldn’t wish to interrupt you.” Skipper’s dad explained, “My son was curious about the driftwood here. Now that we are close, I can see it is a cross—of sorts.”
“Yes, I believe it is a cross. It looks like the tree originally had many more branches, but now just has two. The way it is stuck upright in the sand may be natural, or perhaps long ago someone planted it this way.”
“Do you come here often, William?” Skipper’s dad asked. “This is the first time since the boy’s mother passed away last year that we have been to the beach, and we’ve never been to this part.”
“Oh, I’ve been on this beach most of my life. I have a small cottage just off the sand near the parking lot.” William added, “I am the informal pastor of a small flock of beachgoers who come to this spot to worship. Nothing fancy, just meeting God in the nature He created to give thanks and praise for His grace and mercy.”
Skipper turned to his dad and said, “Dad, I can see it now. This piece of driftwood is like the big cross behind where the pastor talks at church on Sunday.”
“Yes, son, I can see that now, too.”
William placed his hands together like he was praying and said, “I hope that you both will join us here for worship when you get a chance. I am here most days and always on Sundays from sunrise until late afternoon. We are a God-fearing, Bible-believing, and people-loving group.”
Skipper and his dad looked at each other for a second and then both nodded their agreement.
“We’ll be back!”
As they started to leave, William reached down into a satchel he had on his blanket with his Bible. He took out two small hand-carved crosses and handed them to Sam and Skipper.
“I whittle these from small pieces of driftwood that come onto the beach, but only the area that I own as part of the homestead. I want you to have them so that no matter where you go, you may go with the Lord and remember that He loves you and I do, too.”
Softly rubbing the rough cross in his hand, Skipper turned to his dad and asked, “Is this where we all say, Amen?”
Craig Ruhl is the Managing Editor and Business Manager of Faith On Every Corner. He writes and edits articles for Faith On Every Corner magazine. Reading and writing have been his lifelong passions. After retiring from a career in business ownership and management, he now focuses his gifts and talents on spreading the good news of Jesus Christ through Faith On Every Corner. When not working, Craig enjoys road trips with his wife, Karen, and collecting and using fountain and dip pen collections.
Photo by Massimo Adami on Unsplash
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