by Missy Buchanan, writer-speaker on issues of aging faithfully.

Each morning over the span of three weeks during the summer of 2011, I hopped into a rental car, rolled the windows down and cruised along South Mississippi’s US 90, making the ten mile trip from my gulf view hotel to the charming seaside town of Pass Christian.

It had only been six years since Hurricane Katrina had blown through, leaving this area of the Gulf Coast in shambles. But as I traveled the scenic drive each morning, I could see many signs of hope along the way: new construction, pristine beaches, and canopies of ancient oak trees that had somehow survived the great storm.

That summer, I had left my home in Texas to come to Mississippi so that I could listen to the life stories of my friend and co-author, Lucimarian Roberts, the 87 year-old mother of Good Morning America’s anchor, Robin Roberts. Together we were writing Lucimarian’s memoir, My Story, My Song.

On most afternoons, we sat in her living room as she reflected on her long, remarkable life as an African American woman who had lived through tumultuous days of segregation and was now identified as one of Mississippi’s most beloved treasures.

Some days we would go to one of Lucimarian’s favorite restaurants for lunch. Other days we’d drive to a local park, or her quaint Presbyterian Church across the bridge in Bay St. Louis. Since Lucimarian was under doctor’s orders not to drive, she gladly accepted a role as my navigator and tour guide while I drove the rented PT Cruiser. 

On one humid afternoon, we were returning from a short trip to Biloxi along the coastal highway. The gulf, often a battleship gray, was sparkling blue in the late afternoon sun and beach-goers were playing in the surf. Suddenly Lucimarian asked me to turn into a small parking lot adjacent to the beach. 

I parked facing the gulf and lowered the car windows so we could hear the familiar sounds of the surf. Lucimarian closed her eyes and tilted her head back on the headrest. For a few minutes we sat quietly, savoring the serenity, until I finally broke the silence. “I can see why you and your husband chose to live here when he retired from the Air Force.”

Lucimarian’s face stretched into a wide smile. “I guess we could have gone anywhere, but this felt like home to me,” she said in her eloquent way. “There’s something about the water that helps me think deep thoughts. It is a sacred place where I grapple with life—and with growing older.”

In that moment, I realized that Lucimarian and I had even more in common than our faith, our love of old hymns, and Mary Mahoney’s gumbo. We shared the spiritual tug that beckons you to leave the busyness of life and come to the shore where sounds of the surf draw you deeper into the mysteries of life.

Nature brings a sacred perspective to the journey of aging. There’s something about standing at the seashore, or on a rocky ledge high above a mountain valley, that causes me to stare into my own mortality.

In the vastness of creation, I’m reminded that I am but a speck.My life is nothing more than a vapor. Yet acknowledging my human frailty actually ushers in a greater sense of joy and purpose in these latter years.

This is the creative tension of paradox, I believe. To be strong in life, I must first be vulnerable. To make an impact on the lives of others, I must empty myself. To live more fully, I must embrace death.

Missy Buchanan’s newest book, BEACH CALLING: A DEVOTIONAL JOURNAL FOR THE MIDDLE YEARS AND BEYOND, was released in June 2019.  https://www.amazon.com/Beach-Calling-Devotional-Journal-Middle/dp/0835818772

For a preview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1bGOIJRQp8