A Bucket of Justice

I’ve just spent three glorious days at the beach.  

And not just any 3 days at the beach: Family Vacation!

I’m so thankful.

I wrote this on our last night at the ocean:

Today, an almost-5 year old hand grabbed mine and led me to just the right spot – that magical place where the waves meet the shore, where the depths come in for a kiss.

He threw sand, and I marveled at what a perfect Christmas moment it actually was. Not a miracle baby and a star, but the Creator coming in for us, nonetheless.

Lifa sat in my lap, and waves rolled over our feet with giggles and gladness.

I sang.

“Your love, Oh Lord, reaches to the heavens.

Your faithfulness stretches to the skies.

Your righteousness is like a mighty mountain.

Your justice flows like the ocean’s tides.”

I watched the ocean coming and coming, and I thought about justice that looks like that.

What is justice that flows like that?

The child on my lap is starting Grade R (kindergarten) in January, but has no documentation. He might be able to be enrolled, but it won’t “count”. He can’t get a diploma, health care, a passport, a driver’s license, a job, a bank account, etc.

But the ocean keeps coming.

I never know where the waves are going to land, which ones will fill up our bucket, or which ones will bury our feet. But I know they’re still going to come.

January changes everything for me.

Unless the tides change, Lifa will go to attend a community school near his dad’s house – four hours away from mine. He may only be with me for school holidays.

I swallow this reality with salt and sand, and he squeals with a purity and joy I’ve never ever seen before as he faces the “big swimming pool”. He’s screaming and squeezing – and I sing.

“Your justice flows like the ocean’s tides.”

I hold that baby tight.  And I look for the edges of the ocean.

But I can’t find them.  So I let go. And I raise up my hands.

And I look at Justice lapping around our legs, swallowing us, even picking us up and spinning us around as its tide comes in. 

I look at Justice, and I tell Him there’s enough out there.

I tell Him I don’t want a swimming pool.

I want tides of Justice flowing in, over me and over us.

There’s enough out there for January, no matter where his feet land and where mine do.

It’s time for sand castles. I promised I’d help.

We need water, but he’s too scared to go out deep enough to let the bucket fill up.

So I take that green plastic sand pail, and I walk into the ocean.

I fill up, and I bring Lifa one bucket of Justice at a time.

And I tell Justice how happy I am to bring that bucket to Lifa.

And I realize that there’s enough – and that it’s completely worth it.

Justice is flowing. Justice is complete. Justice is rolling in.

Lifa needs justice. He was made in the image of Justice. Thousands of names I don’t know need justice.

And when they are too scared, too small or just in shell-shock, I can take a bucket and cross that sand for them.

I can bring one bucket of His unending supply at a time, and give Lifa the tool he needs to keep dreaming and keep digging into the house he’s building us and the hope he’s learning how to live with.

I don’t know what 2013 will look like or feel like. I don’t know how easy it will be to swallow once I’ve washed the sand and salt out.

But I know, and I’ll sing:

“Your love, Oh Lord, reaches to the heavens.

Your faithfulness stretches to the skies.

Your righteousness is like a mighty mountain.

Your justice flows like the ocean’s tides.”

Justice says He’s finished. He’s sitting in the mercy seat. I’ll sit at His shores.

He said He’d build a big house in 2013 for me, and for His Family. He said He has plans for that house and His Family that I can’t begin to grasp.

He said He loves me and Lifa and Lifa’s father. And that He doesn’t even have to readjust Himself on the mercy seat for His highest good, the greatest love, to flow in like the oceans tides.

I can’t fathom any of it.

And I can’t see the edges of the ocean.

But I have a bucket.