She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live.  
I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world  
begins to close in on me.  She was building a sand castle or something  
and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.  
"Hello," she said.  
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.  
"I'm building," she said.  
"I see that.  What is it?"  I asked, not really caring.  
"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."  
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.  
A sandpiper glided by.  
"That's a joy," the child said.  
"It's a what?"  
"It's a joy.  My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."  
The bird went gliding down the beach.  Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,  
hello pain, and turned to walk on.  I was depressed, my life seemed  
completely out of balance.  
"What's your name?"  She wouldn't give up.  
"Robert," I answered.  "I'm Robert Peterson."  
"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."  
"Hi, Wendy."  
She giggled.  "You're funny," she said.  
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.  
Her musical giggle followed me.  
"Come again, Mr. P," she called.  "We'll have another happy day."  
The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings,  
and an ailing mother.  The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out  
of the dishwater.  I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.  
The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me.  The breeze was  
chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.  
"Hello, Mr. P," she said.  "Do you want to play?"  
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.  
"I don't know.  You say.."  
"How about charades?"  I asked sarcastically.  
The tinkling laughter burst forth again.  "I don't know what that is."  
"Then let's just walk."  
 Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.  
"Where do you live?" I asked.  
"Over there."  She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.  
Strange, I thought, in winter.  
"Where do you go to school?"  
"I don't go to school.  Mommy says we're on vacation."  
She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was  
on other things.  When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.  
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.  
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic.  I was in no  
mood to even greet Wendy.  I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt  
like demanding she keep her child at home.  
"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd  
rather be alone today."  She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.  
"Why?" she asked.  
I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought,  
My God, why was I saying this to a little child?  
"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."  
"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!"  
"Did it hurt?" she inquired.  
"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.  
"When she died?"  
"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding,  
wrapped up in myself.  I strode off.  
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.  
Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up  
to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door..  A drawn looking  
young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.  
"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson.  I missed your little girl today  
and wondered where she was."  
"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in.  Wendy spoke of you so much.  
I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you.  If she was a nuisance,  
please, accept my apologies."  
"Not at all -- she's a delightful child."  I said, suddenly realizing  
that I meant what I had just said.  
"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson.  She had leukemia.  
Maybe she didn't tell you."  
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair.  I had to catch my breath.  
"She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.  
She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days.  
But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left  
something for you, if only I can find it.  Could you wait a moment while I look?"  
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young  
woman.  She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in bold  
childish letters.  Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach,  
a blue sea, and a brown bird.  Underneath was carefully printed:  
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.  
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love  
opened wide.  I took Wendy's mother in my arms.  "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,  
I'm so sorry," I uttered over and over, and we wept together.  The precious little  
picture is framed now and hangs in my study.  Six words -- one for each year  
of h er life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.  
A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand  
-- who taught me the gift of love.  

 NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson.  It happened over 20  
years ago and the incident changed his life forever.  It serves as a reminder  
to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other.  
The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.  
 Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas  
can make us lose focus about what is truly important  
or what is only a momentary setback or crisis.  
 This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means,  
take a moment... even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses.  
 This comes from someone's heart, and is read by many  
and now I share it with you...  
 
May God Bless everyone who receives this!  There are NO coincidences!  
 
Everything that happens to us happens for a reason.  
Never brush aside  
anyone as insignificant.   

Sy was maar 'n skamele 6 jaar oud toe ek haar vir die eerste keer ontmoet het.
Ek ry gewoonlik die 4 kilometer af strand toe elke keer as ek voel dat die wêreld vir my te Klein begin word.
Sy was besig om 'n sandkasteel of iets te bou, en toe sy opkyk, kyk ek in die pragtigste blou ogies, so blou soos die see self.
"Hallo", sê sy.
Ek antwoord met 'n knik van die kop, nou nie juis in 'n bui om te bodder met 'n Klein dogtertjie nie.
"Ek bou", sê sy.
"Ja, so sien ek. Wat bou jy?" Ek gee nou nie juis om wat sy bou nie...
"Aag ek weet nie, ek voel maar net lus om in die sand te speel."
Die idee trek my nogal aan, en ek trek my skoene uit. 'n Strandlopertjie sweef verby.
"Dis 'n vreugde", sê sy.
"Dis 'n wat?"
"'n Vreugde. Mamma sê dat 'n strandlopertjie vir 'n mens vreugde bring."
Die strandlopertjie verdwyn oor die duin.
"Koebaai vreugde", mompel ek vir myself, "Hallo pyn!"
Ek draai om, om te loop. Depressie het aan my geknaag - my lewe was 'n gemors.
"Wat is jou naam?" Hierdie dogtertjie gaan nie maklik tou opgooi nie.
"Robert", sê ek, "Robert Peterson."
"Ek's Wendy ... Ek is ses."
"Hallo Wendy"
Sy giggel. "Jy's snaaks", sê sy.
Ek lag, ten spyte van die donker wolk wat oor my gemoed hang, en ek
Stap aan. Haar klokhelder giggel-laggie volg my.
"Kom weer meneer P", skree sy, "kom sodat ons nog 'n gelukkige dag kan hê!"
Na 'n paar dae van onbeheerbare Boy Scouts, frustrerende vergaderings en 'n ou kranklike moeder, het die son een oggend so vrolik geskyn dat ek die skottelgoedwater van my hande afgeskud het , en toe sê ek vir myself:
"Robert, jy het 'n strandlopertjie nodig."
Die heerlike sout seelug wag vir my, en ek gryp my jas. Die windjie is ysig, maar ek stap aan en probeer die rustigheid van die strand indrink, daardie rustigheid wat ek so bitter nodig het.
"Hallo meneer P," roep sy my, "wil jy kom speel?"
"Wat het jy in gedagte?" Ek voel half vies vir hierdie inbreuk op my gedagtes.
"Aag, ek weet nie ... Wat dink jy?"
"Wat van kennetjie?" vra ek half sarkasties.
Haar klokhelder laggie weerklink oor die strand. "Ek ken nie daai speletjie nie."
"Nou maar Dan loop ons maar sommer."
Ek kyk af na die lewendige klein figuurtjie, en ek kan nie help om die delikate bleek gesiggie raak te sien nie.
"Waar bly jy?"
"Daar anderkant", sê sy, en sy beduie in die rigting van 'n paar somerhuisies.
Dis baie snaaks, dink ek. Om in die winter in somerhuisies te kom bly ....
"En waar gaan jy skool?"
"Ek gaan nie skool toe nie - Mamma sê ons is met vakansie."
Sy babbel aanmekaar terwyl ons met die strand afstap, maar my gedagtes is
baie vêr weg.
As ek later huis toe ry, sê Wendy vir my dat dit 'n baie lekker dag was.
Ek glimlag vir haar - snaaks genoeg voel ek ook sommer baie beter.
Drie weke later jaag ek af na my strand toe.
Dinge het nou net te veel vir my geraak, en ek is nie in 'n bui om eers vir Wendy te groet nie.
Ek sien iemand op die somerhuisie se stoep sit - seker Wendy se ma - en ek voel asof ek vir haar wil skree:
"Hou jou dogtertjie asseblief vandag tuis!"
Ek stap gejaag, maar Wendy haal my in.
"Asseblief, nie vandag nie!", snou ek haar toe, "Ek wil vandag alleen wees!"
Sy lyk vandag onnatuurlik bleek en uitasem.
"Hoekom?" vra sy.
Ek gaan staan, draai om na haar toe en skree: "Want my ma is dood!"
En skielik wonder ek waarom ek dit vir hierdie kind vertel.
"O", sê sy saggies, "dan is dit 'n slegte dag."
"Ja", sê ek, "én gister, én eergister, en ... aag gaan tog net weg!"
"Was dit seer?" sy kan net nie ophou nie.
"Was wát seer?" ek is moedeloos, met die dogtertjie en met myself.
"Toe sy dood is?"
"Natuurlik was dit seer!" kap ek terug, sonder om die bedoeling agter haar vraag te verstaan.
Ek draai om en stap haastig weg, versonke in my eie seer gedagtes.
'n Maand of wat later, toe ek weer op die strand kom, was sy nie daar nie.
Ek voel skuldig en skaam oor my gedrag, en ... ek het haar nogal gemis.
Ek stap na die strandhuisie toe en klop aan die deur.
'n Vrou maak oop.
"Ek is Robert Peterson", sê ek, "ek mis jou dogtertjie só vandag, en ek het net gewonder waar sy is."
"O ja, meneer Peterson, kom in asseblief. Wendy het so baie van jou gepraat.
Ek is so jammer dat ek toegelaat het dat sy jou pla. As sy 'n oorlas was - dan vra ek om verskoning"
"Aag nee wat, sy is so 'n borrelende klein dogtertjie."
En skielik besef ek dat ek werklik bedoel wat ek sê.
"Wendy is verlede week dood, meneer Peterson. Sy het bloedkanker gehad - het sy jou nie gesê nie?"
Skielik draai die wêreld om my, en ek gryp haastig vir 'n stoel.
Ek is sprakeloos.
"Sy was so lief vir hierdie strand, en toe sy vra dat ons hierheen kom, toe kon ek nie nee sê nie. Sy het soveel beter hier gelyk, en hier het sy baie gelukkige dae gehad. Maar die laaste paar weke het sy baie vinnig agteruit gegaan." Haar stem bewe.
"Sy het iets vir jou gelos ... as ek dit net kan opspoor. Sal jy omgee om 'n bietjie te wag - ek soek dit net gou?"
Ek knik my kop - ek soek vir woorde - maar hulle ontbreek.
Wat sê ek vir hierdie pragtige jong vrou?
Sy gee vir my 'n vuil koevert met "MR. P" op geskryf in groot kinderletters.
Binne is 'n tekening in helder kleure - 'n geel strand; 'n blou see en 'n bruin voël, en onderaan die woorde:
"n Strandlopertjie om geluk te bring"
Ek kan die trane nie keer nie, en hierdie klip-hart van my wat lankal vergeet het wat dit is om lief te hê, kraak en breek.
Ek neem Wendy se ma in my arms:
"Ek is so jammer, so bitter, bitter jammer", is al wat ek kan uitkry, oor en oor, en saam huil ons.
Daardie kosbare prentjie is geraam, en hang in my studeerkamer.
Ses woorde - een vir elke jaar van haar kort lewetjie - sê vir my van harmonie, dapperheid en 'n onvoorwaardelike liefde.
'n Geskenk van 'n dogtertjie met see-blou oë en hare die kleur van die seesand - sy het my geleer van die geskenk van ware liefde..
Hierdie ware verhaal is opgeteken deur Robert Peterson. Dit het meer as 20 jaar gelede afgespeel, en hierdie insident het sy lewe onherroeplik verander. Ons kan hieruit leer dat ons tyd moet maak om die lewe te geniet, en tyd moet maak vir mekaar.
Die lewe is so gekompliseerd - die gejaag en elke dag se probleme en traumas kan maak dat jy fokus verloor en van die dinge wat rêrig saak maak vergeet.
Gaan gee vir die mense in jou lewe waarvoor jy lief is vandag 'n ekstra drukkie, net om te sê dat jy omgee en vir hulle lief is. En gaan stap 'n draai in die tuin, en ruik aan die blomme. Drink die skeppingswonder van God in, en gee aan Hom die eer.
Wendy het nie maar toevallig op Robert se pad gekom nie - daar is nie so 'n ding soos toeval nie. Sy was daar met 'n doel. So bring die Here dinge op ons pad met 'n doel - soms is dit nie lekker nie, soms raak dit daar diep binne in jou bors, waar 'n waslap nie kan was nie, aan jou hart..
Maar sien die hand van God daarin, en dank Hom daarvoor.
Ek bid vir jou 'n Strandlopertjie-dag toe.