by Teri Ong
I am in the process of moving my mother from Minnesota to Colorado. We have spent many hours this week packing her things in the Minnesota house. But since we both understand that sightseeing in Minnesota will be markedly less likely in the future, we decided to devote one day to a trip to Duluth and the North Shore of Lake Superior.
That day we were blessed with spectacularly gorgeous weather. The humidity was low and the temperature was moderate. The sky was that intense shade of blue that is more frequent in the fall than in the late spring. There was just enough wind to keep the light play in the trees sparkling. And being mid-week just before the end of school, the wildflowers were abundant but the tourists were not.
After a quick photo stop at Canal Point to see if any BIG ships were due to go in or out of the Port of Duluth under the Lift Bridge that day (there weren’t), we followed the scenic route along the lake shore up to Gooseberry Falls, the first of several state parks along the shore on the way north (the locals say “the way east”).
Gooseberry Falls was the scene of numerous childhood picnics for me. On those occasions we did not use a traditional “Yogi Bear”-style picnic basket. Typically, we packed our supplies 
in a large tin bread box. It was red and white with a solid red lid, and it doubled as a booster seat for whoever needed it. Drinks were usually hot ones since the northern weather was frequently chilly. They were stored in large Thermos bottles tucked neatly into a storage bag pieced together by my Grammy from colorful scraps of leather that had been salvaged from somewhere by my aunt. We always had a stock of plastic coffee mugs (white ones with little ring handles) for those who didn’t get to use the Thermos caps.
On this day we took our coffee in travel mugs and our cold water in enormous “bubba” jugs.
Because of the iron content in the “Iron Range,” the water that flows, often precipitously, into Lake Superior has a dusky red tint to it. As kids, we always thought it looked like root beer flowing over a rocky ledge into a foamy froth at the bottom. Gooseberry Falls were just as I remembered. We were also delighted with the gnarly old-growth trees along the edge of the falls that had a decidedly Tolkien-esque look to them.
Later in the day, we stopped to see the old lighthouse at Two Harbors. It was especially picturesque– red against the deep blue sky and spring green of the well-groomed lawn surrounding it. There was an old fishing vessel on display at the foot of the hill on which the lighthouse perched. I thought about what a comfort that light probably had been to the men who sailed the comparatively tiny boat on the enormous and sometimes very stormy lake.
None of the Lake Superior lights are truly operational anymore, though the Two Harbors light still shines every night. Everyone uses GPS navigational systems now days, which I am sure give much more pinpoint accuracy. But what if the power goes down or your system gets some “worm” or “virus”?
I think we sometimes get a false sense of security from our man-made technologies. The manmade lighthouses of the past were associated with some outstanding natural feature or landmark, such as the famous Split Rock light a little further up the shore. If the manmade light failed for some reason, one could hopefully get a glimpse of the natural feature that had been there from time immemorial. The lives of Christians are to be a light drawing attention to the ancient landmarks of God and His Word. Too often in our day, we are complacent and have a false sense of security about where we are in the wide universe. We fail to be alert and attentive to the ancient landmarks that could get us safe to harbor when the arm of flesh fails us.
As children, my brother and sister and I spent many hours beach combing as my dad hunted for occasional Superior agates, which were always easier to find in gift shops than along the shore. This day my mom wanted to make a stop to collect some rocks for an ornamental jar– a memento of a distant day and place once she arrives in Colorado. We found a civic access at Two Harbors where we could park the car and walk along a sandy and pebbly beach.
The south side of the little half-moon bay was mostly sand, but the north side was mostly pebbles of various types and sizes, all of which showed evidence of being tumbled together in water and sand over untold eons. As we walked down the beach, we also saw evidence that other people had been there before us. We saw mini-monuments of larger stones piled up totem-style, a couple sand castles, and a mini-Stonehenge.
I mused about how silly it would be to assume that random forces of wind and water had built up the various structures– no matter how crude they were. Obviously the varied designs had various designers.
As I walked along, I would stop and pick up rocks randomly. I wasn’t looking for anything particular. Some were igneous, some were metamorphic, some were sedimentary. Some were large, some small, some tiny. Some were attractive in some odd way, but most were merely non-descript. I picked them up because it pleased me to do so.
They did not earn by some act of goodness or valor the distinction of being separated from the others on the beach and put into my pocket. They did not earn their distinction by being the “most” or the “least” in some category. They did not call out to me to be picked up. But pick them up I did, and they will ultimately be collected and preserved in a place of beauty.
I meditated on the words “you have not chosen Me, but I have chosen you…” (John 15:16). I thanked God that I was a chosen pebble on His beach. To the praise of His glory!
