A Little Faith in Humanity, Courtesy of a Sunset

Sometimes I get so discouraged by the world we're living in that I want to pull away from it altogether. The unkindness, the division, the way people speak to and about one another, and leaders who seem determined to set the worst possible example. It’s exhausting. Some days I'd just as soon stay home with my books, my plants, and the people I love rather than venture out into a world that doesn't always feel very loving.

And then something happens that reminds me there's a whole lot of goodness out there, too.

Last Sunday evening, I got one of those reminders, and it came with a spectacular sunset, which is exactly what we went for.

My son Bill and I had spent a wonderful week in the Pacific Northwest, enjoying the beauty of Anacortes on Fidalgo Island. We'd done some writing, eaten delicious food, visited with friends, walked along the shoreline, and breathed in as much of that glorious, moist, salty air as our lungs could hold. Even my skin and perpetually dry nose were grateful!

On our last evening, we were sitting at the bar of Anthony's Seafood restaurant with our dear friend Helen, talking about the week and the changes waiting for us in the coming weeks.

Helen suggested we do something different for dinner. Instead of eating there inside the restaurant, why not pick up some Mexican food, head to Sunset Beach, build a fire, and watch the sun go down?

That sounded perfect.

We picked up our food and headed toward the beach, expecting a peaceful place to spend our final evening…just the three of us.

But as we rounded a corner through the trees, I was surprised to see people. Quite a few of them.

There wasn’t a crowd, mind you. Just people scattered along the beach, each sitting in the scattered old wooden benches, enjoying the evening in their own way.

Young couples and older couples too, sat together on weathered wooden benches facing west, where the sun slowly made its descent. Families were picnicking while children played nearby, fascinated by the fires dancing in the pits. Others sat alone, apparently quite content with their own company and the magnificent view.

An elderly woman and her middle-aged daughter were sitting together, talking and taking pictures as the sky began changing colors. They were friendly and offered to take a picture of the three of us so we wouldn't have to settle for another selfie.

Then they returned to their conversation and their sunset.

I loved watching them. There was an obvious closeness between them, and I've always had a soft spot for seeing older people enjoying time with someone who clearly loves and values them. Something about that simple exchange touched me.

We found ourselves a table, gobbled down our tacos so we could get on with the important business of sunset watching, and settled in.

And what a show Mother Nature had prepared!

The oranges, reds, and yellows were almost impossibly brilliant, while the softer blues, purples, and greens created their own beautiful backdrop. The colors shifted as the sun dropped lower, giving us one gorgeous combination after another.

At some point, looking around at all those people, I felt something I hadn't expected.

Connection. Divine Connection.

None of us knew one another. We weren't there for a concert, a celebration, or some organized gathering. We had simply made the same choice on this specific Sunday evening.

We could have been home watching television, preparing for Monday, catching up on chores, or doing any number of things that fill our lives. Instead, we'd all made the effort to come to this beautiful place and watch the sun disappear over the water.

It felt a little like being in church. An unconventional church, certainly, with tacos, fire pits, weathered benches, and children playing. No minister, no sermon, no collection plate.

But what a spectacular service!

Love is ALL there is,

Diana