****
As I passed by Seapoint Beach, people entered the cold
sea to swim for five to 35 minutes. Their gear was piled up on the rocks of the
swimming area. Some dogs waited
patiently (and some didn’t) for their owners to finish the frigid swim that
seemed to accelerate for the Irish during COVID-19 when the nation was
locked down more than most. They found some freedom, escape, and connections to be in the water at
the sea. And it has never stopped. It feels like it continues to grow in popularity. Even this morning, with high tide, crashing
waves, and cold wind and rain, people came to the sea and entered the
water with little hesitation. One man, maybe in his late 60s, was in a bright blue Speedo and walked casually through “the
weather,” putting on his swimming cap (for a measure of presumed warmth, I’m
sure) with no sense of expediency, walked down the stone ramp and jumped into
the gray, churning sea. Off he went.
Way out by one of the buoys, maybe 200 yards out, I saw the head
of another man swimming. I stood high on
the rock wall overlooking the swimming area and watched—he was alone and the
water was dashing so hard against the rocks that I was getting saltwater in my mouth, standing 10-15 feet above the surface. I
looked back one more time as I was turning out of sight to see if I could find
him, a 15-20 second scan of the water, and I was satisfied he was well on his
way back to safety.
I eventually made my way onto the long stone pier and
marveled at the many young people getting their sailboats in and out of the
water for their classes this Sunday morning.
I saw a group of young teenage girls
lifting their boat off a rock wall as they finished their class.
I saw a motorboat towing a line of six sailboats out of the
harbor. Each little boat had a little solo
captain readying for their lesson.
I saw another three or four groups of sailboats and noted
it was not unlike Saturday morning soccer practice on a field in Chesterfield
Valley, where we live. Instead of the
field (or “pitch,” as they say here), it was the harbor. Instead of a ball, it was their own sailboat. The coach was in a motorized dingy, calling
out instructions for their soon-to-be sailors, hoisting sails, talking
them down, and so forth.
A gray-haired man, and then a second, came by with wet suits
on, standing on paddle boards as they rowed by.
I passed maybe a hundred people—mostly in their 20-80s,
walking, running, cycling, sailing. It
was cold and busy out as per usual.
The green and yellow DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) trains
rolled by regularly carrying people to Dublin Malahide or
Bray.
Finally, I passed an older gentleman with a tennis racket
standing by the sea. His dog waited
anxiously in the seawater in a somewhat crouched position. When the tennis ball went sailing out, the dog
jumped into the waves from the half-submerged steps he was on. There were big smiles on the faces of people
walking past and going in the other direction.
I smiled as big as they did.
Last night, we took Selah out to Howth (drop the w and you might
say it right) for dinner. We boarded the
DART at Blackrock and road the train to the end of the line out on the
peninsula. Soon we were back in the
Howth Market where I approached a man I’d met before in August. “I told you I’d be back. Now, there are some little girls in Missouri
that have some of your wife’s painted rocks.”
“I remember you and our conversation!” he exclaimed. He recounted some of the things we discussed standing in this outdoor market on 19 August. I brought Jeanette and Selah over and
introduced them and we chatted about our visit. I asked for his card and he wisely said as he
embraced me, “There’s no need for a card when we can hug. Come back before Christmas, and I’ll give you both
a gift.” It was yet another delightful
connection made in this cherished place.
Before leaving Howth, we stopped into a place for dinner at
this fishing village.
Soon, a young family was seated next to us. The couple had
two daughters, maybe 9 and 13 years old. During our meal, I had a quiet feeling
that has come far more to mom than to me. In fact, I don't recall ever noticing
a prompting like this. I'm sure they have come, but I listening sufficient to
recognize them.
It came as a few feeling but was clearly and instantly
translated in words in my mind to this, "Pay for their meal." I heard
it and understood it but didn't follow it. I kept sneaking glances at them, and
then, they were done and getting up from their table.
The young father of maybe 40 stood next to me, waiting for
his family to rise and I found occasion to speak with him. "You have a
beautiful family." In an instant, I knew he was from another country and
inquired about where they were from. In his broken English, he simply said ,
"Ukraine. Ten days in Ireland now." He described driving in a car
through several countries, leaving Ukraine -
Romania. Poland, Germany, and France were included in his fast
recounting of them coming to Ireland. He eyes were fixed and intense, and he
struggled to communicate but did well. A daughter helped him on a word or two,
and his wife remained silent with the younger daughter. We were assured they
could speak English but were shy. I / we wished them well. His gaze was intense
as ever, and as we he simply said, in very deliberate articulated English,
"Well, Goodbye." At that point, his wife and youngest daughter spoke
to us for the first time as they said a practiced English word,
"Goodbye".
I could sense his protective efforts had included many
sleepless nights he likely had in their struggles to stay safely together.
They departed and emotions stirred quickly as they do now
again, considering their plight and millions like them. I pray our paths will
cross again, that they will find a path forward that includes a community they
can trust, and that God would remember them and their people.
