Daydreaming about summer during long winter months

A Reflection for Monday of the First Week in Ordinary Time

Find today’s readings here.

In the midst of winter, I often find myself dreaming of sunny summer days at the Jersey Shore. If I let my mind wander, I can almost feel it: the cool breeze off the ocean, the fine sand between my toes, the warm glow of the sun. 

In my adult daydreams, I long to stretch out with a novel, take a walk along the shoreline or let the sound of the waves lull me to a mid-afternoon nap. But my childhood memories, which I think of equally as fondly, are characterized by moments of action and adventure. 

My cousins, siblings and I would fill long afternoons at the beach with a series of games and competitions. One of our favorites was looking for and trying to catch a variety of small sea creatures. Though we collected rocks and shells as well, there was nothing better than finding something alive—small hermit and sand crabs or little fish—and creating our own miniature aquariums out of beach buckets and toys. 

We had no malicious intentions for our little friends. In fact, our attempts to catch them and keep them contained for a few hours came from a place of interest, care—love, even, in our own childlike way. We would fill buckets with sand and water, and add pieces of seaweed and shells as decoration; making a nice home for them, keeping them safe from other dangers for a short time. 

Of course, the crabs and fish didn’t know this. When we would reach for them, longing to hold them and treasure them, they would do everything in their power to slip through our small fingers and return to their familiar environments. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I wanted to tell them, “my intentions are good.” 

In today’s Gospel, Jesus offers his disciples a chance to follow him and become “fishers of men.” Like young beachgoers turning over rocks on a summer afternoon, his faithful followers must be patient and determined as they attempt to bring the scared and confused masses into the home that God has created for them. 

It’s nice to think of myself as returning to my childhood days by becoming one of these “fishers,” who is working relentlessly to bring others closer to God. But I know that more often I behave like the little crabs and guppy fish—desperately trying to escape someone who cares for me in favor of staying in a position that I deem to be more familiar and less vulnerable. 

As the long months of winter roll slowly on, the summer alive only in my daydreams, I am fighting the urge to bury myself in the sand that I know. Instead, I am trying to let myself trust the one who reaches for me, and fall willingly into God’s gentle and loving hands.

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