Don't swim. Don't sail. Don't stand too close to the edge.
Sometime the red flags flaps violently in the wind. Cracking and snapping, echoed by sound of the waves smashing the rocks and sand. The pier is coated in a sheen of lake water, small puddles form only to be desturbed and displaced by the next wave that crashes in.
These are the obvious red flag days.
Then there are days when the flag lays docile against its pole. Lack lusterly flutters in a brief breeze. The waves are calmly, ritualistically lapping at the beach. The pier is dry and crowded. The crowds thinking the flag was forgotten and should be ignored. These red flags give the warning of a hidden danger. Riptides.
The snaking current that pulls you out and under.
Tonight was an obvious red flag day.
The waves soaked Erika and I to the bone as we cautiously navigated the pier in a desperate attempt to get better pictures of the sunset happening beyond the chaos around us.
Tonight was an obvious red flag day, not only on the beach, but in my life.
The kind where everyone around you knows. The red rimed eyes give a subtle warning, but the waves of tears crashing against the table of a coffee house, the gasps for air, and sobs that rack my body, really drive the point home.
God gave me a red flag day that was echoed in his creation. And yet. On that pier. I wasn't alone. I was standing with twenty other people who were there for the same reasons I was.
We are willing to stand though something so miserable because something beautiful will follow.
I will move past this red flag stage of my life, because God promised me a life of sunsets. That's what I am focusing on tonight.
