The cheerful girl with bouncy golden curls was almost five. Waiting with her mother at the checkout stand, she saw them: a circle of glistening white pearls in a pink foil box.

    "Oh please, Mommy. Can I have them? Please, Mommy, please!" Quickly the mother checked the back of the little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little girl's upturned face. "A dollar ninety-five. That's almost $2.00 If you really want them, I'll think of some extra chores for you and in no time you can save enough money to buy them for yourself. Your birthday's only a week away and you might get another crisp dollar bill from Grandma." As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her penny bank and counted out 17 pennies. After dinner, she did more than her share of chores and she went to the neighbor and asked Mrs. McJames if she could pick dandelions for ten cents.

     On her birthday, Grandma did give her another new dollar bill and at last she had enough money to buy the necklace. Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown up. She wore them everywhere--Sunday school, kindergarten, even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green.

     Jenny had a very loving daddy and every night when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come upstairs to read her a story. One night when he finished the story, he asked Jenny, "Do you love me?" "Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you." "Then give me your pearls." "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have Princess--the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink tail. Remember, Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite." "That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss. About a week later, after the story time, Jenny's daddy asked again, "Do you love me?" "Daddy, you know I love you." "Then give me your pearls." "Oh Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have my babydoll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper." "That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you, little one. Daddy loves you." And as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.

      A few nights later when her daddy came in, Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came close, he noticed her chin was trembling and one silent tear rolled down her cheek. "What is it, Jenny? What's the matter?" Jenny didn't say anything but lifted her little hand up to her daddy. And when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a little quiver, she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you." With tears gathering in his own eyes, Jenny's kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace, and with the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and gave them to Jenny. He had had them all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up the dime-store stuff so he could give her genuine treasure.

So like our Heavenly Father. What are you hanging on to?

     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 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 caring. "Oh I don't know, I just like the feel of the sand." That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by. "That's a joy," the child said. "It's what?" I asked, uncaring. "It's a joy! My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy." The bird went glissading 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. "Ruth," I answered. "I'm Ruth Peterson." "Mine's Wendy,... and I'm six." "Hi, Wendy." I offered. 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, Mrs.. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."

    The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, 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 never-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared.

    "Hello, Mrs.. 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 greet even 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 on 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, and yesterday and the day before that and-oh, go away!" "Did it hurt?" "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 Ruth Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was." "Oh yes, Mrs.. Peterson, please come in." "Wendy talked 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 it.

     "Where is she?" "Wendy died last week, Mrs.. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you." Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. My breath caught. "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, anything, to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope, with MRS.. P printed in bold, childish letters.

      Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues-a yellow beach, a blue sea, 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 how to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered 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 her life-that speak to me of inner harmony, courage, undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand-who taught me the gift of love.

He was just a little lad and on a Sabbath day was wandering home from Sunday School and dawdling on his way.

He scuffed his shoes into the grass: he found a caterpillar, He found a fluffy milkweed pod and blew out all the "Filler."

A bird's nest in the tree overhead, so wisely placed and high, Was just another wonder that caught his eager eye.

A neighbor watched his zig-zag course and hailed him from the lawn, asked him where he'd been that day and what was going on.

"Oh, I've been to Sunday School." (He carefully turned the sod and found a snail beneath it).
"I've learned a lot of God." "Mmmm, a very fine way," t he neighbor said, "for a boy to spend his time.

If you'll tell me where God is, I'll give you a brand new dime." Quick as a flash his answer came, nor were his accents faint, "I'll give you a dollar, Mister, if you'll tell me where God ain't!"

      "Why was my burden so heavy?" I slammed the bedroom door and leaned against it. "Is there no rest from this life?" I wondered. I stumbled to my bed and dropped onto it, pressing my pillow around my ears to shut out the noise of my existence. "Oh God," I cried, "let me sleep. Let me sleep forever and never wake up!"

       With a deep sob, I tried to will myself into oblivion, then welcomed the blackness that came over me. Light surrounded me as I regained consciousness. I focused on its source: the figure of a man standing before a cross.

       "My child," the person asked, "why did you want to come to Me before I am ready to call you?"

       "Lord, I'm sorry. It's just that. . . I can't go on. You see how hard it is for me. Look at this awful          burden on my back. I simply can't carry it anymore."

       "But haven't I told you to cast all of your burdens upon Me, because I care for you? My yoke is          easy, and My burden is light."

       "I knew You would say that. But why does mine have to be so heavy?"

       "My child, everyone in the world has a burden. Perhaps you would like to try a different one?"

        "I can do that?" He pointed to several burdens lying at His feet.

        "You may try any of these." All of them seemed to be of equal size. But each was labeled with          a name.

        "There's Joan's," I said.

         Joan was married to a wealthy businessman. She lived in a sprawling estate and dressed her three daughters in the prettiest designer clothes. Sometimes she drove me to church in her Cadillac when my car was broken.

         "Let me try that one." How difficult could her burden be? I thought.

        The Lord removed my burden and placed Joan's on my shoulders. I sank to my knees beneath its weight.

        "Take it off!" I said. "What makes it so heavy?" "Look inside."

         I untied the straps and opened the top. Inside was a figure of her Mother-in- law, and when I lifted it out, it began to speak.

         "Joan, you'll never be good enough for my son," it began. "He never should have married you.            You're a terrible mother to my grandchildren . . ."

         I quickly placed the figure back in the pack and withdrew another. It was Donna, Joan's youngest daughter. Her head was bandaged from the surgery that had failed to resolve her epilepsy. A third figure was Joan's brother. Addicted to drugs, he had been convicted of killing a police officer.

         "I see why her burden is so heavy, Lord. But she's always smiling and helping others. I didn't           realize. . . "

          "Would you like to try another?" He asked quietly.

         I tested several. Paula's felt heavy: She was raising four small children without a father. Debra's did too: a childhood of sexual abuse and a marriage of emotional abuse. When I came to Ruth's burden, I didn't even try. I knew that inside I would find arthritis, old age, a demanding full-time job, and a beloved husband in a nursing home.

          "They're all too heavy, Lord," I said. "Give me back my own."

          As I lifted the familiar load once again, it seemed much lighter than the others.

           "Let's look inside," He said.

           I turned away, holding it close. "That's not a good idea," I said. "Why?"

           "There's a lot of junk in there." "Let Me see."

           The gentle thunder of His voice compelled me. I opened my burden. He pulled out a brick.

           "Tell Me about this one." "Lord, You know. It's money. I know we don't suffer like people in some countries or even the homeless here in America. But we have no insurance, and when the kids get sick, we can't always take them to the doctor. They've never been to a dentist. And I'm tired of dressing them in hand-me-downs."

            "My child, I will supply all of your needs. . . and your children's. I've given them healthy              bodies. I will teach them that expensive clothing doesn't make a person valuable in My              sight."

            Then He lifted out the figure of a small boy. "And this?" He asked. "Andrew. . . " I hung my             head, ashamed to call my son a burden.

            "But, Lord, he's hyperactive. He's not quiet like the other two. He makes me so tired. He's              always getting hurt, and someone is bound to think I abuse him. I yell at him all the time.               Someday I may really hurt him. . . "

            "My child," He said, "if you trust Me, I will renew your strength, if you allow Me to fill you               with My Spirit, I will give you patience."

            Then He took some pebbles from my burden.

             "Yes, Lord," I said with a sigh, "those are small. But, they're important. I hate my hair. It's              thin, and I can't make it look nice. I can't afford to go to the beauty shop. I'm overweight               and I can't stay on a diet. I hate all my clothes. I hate the way I look!"

             "My child, people look at your outward appearance, but I look at your heart. By My Spirit you can gain self-control to lose weight. But your beauty should not come from outward appearance. Instead it should come from your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in My sight."

              My burden now seemed lighter than before. "I guess I can handle it now," I said.

              "There is more," He said. "Hand me that last brick."

              "Oh, You don't have to take that. I can handle it." "My child, give it to Me."

              Again His voice compelled me. He reached out His hand, and for the first time I saw the ugly wound. "But, Lord, this brick is so awful, so nasty, so. . . Lord! what happened to Your hands? They're so scarred!"

              No longer focusing on my burden, I looked for the first time into His face. In His brow were ragged scars -- as though someone had pressed thorns into His flesh.

             "Lord," I whispered. "What happened to You?" His loving eyes reached into my soul.

              "My child, you know. Hand Me the brick. It belongs to Me. I bought it."

              "How?" "With My blood." "But why, Lord?" "Because I have loved you with an everlasting                 love. Give it to Me."

               I placed the filthy brick into His wounded palm. It contained all the dirt and evil of my life: my pride, my selfishness, the depression that constantly tormented me. He turned to the cross and hurled my brick into the pool of blood at it's base. It hardly made a ripple.

               "Now, My child, you need to go back. I will be with you always. When you are troubled,                 call to Me and I will help you and show you things you cannot imagine now."

                I reached to pick up my burden. "You may leave that here if you wish. You see all these burdens? They are the ones that others have left at My feet. Joan's, Paula's, Debra's, Ruth's . . . When you leave your burden here, I carry it with you.

                 Remember, My yoke is easy and My burden is light." As I place my burden with Him, the light began to fade. Yet I heard Him whisper,

               "I will never leave you, nor forsake you." A peace flooded my soul.