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Amidst
the morning mist of the swift returning tide
I set out on my daily run, my
Walkman on my side.
Lost within my private world apart from cares and woes
I ran along the moistened shore, the sand between my toes.
In
the distance, I saw a boy, as busy as can be.
He was running, stooping, picking
up, and tossing in the sea.
Just what he threw, I couldn't tell, I looked
as I drew near.
It seemed to be a rock or shell — as I approached him
I could hear: "Back
you go, where you belong. You're safe now hurry home.
Your family's waiting
for you, little starfish, hurry on!"
It seemed the evening tide had washed
the starfish on the shore,
And the swift receding water left a thousand there
or more. And
this self-appointed savior, was trying one-by-one
To toss them back into the
sea, against the racing sun.
I saw his plight was hopeless, that most of them
would die.
I called out from my private world, "Hey Kid, why even try?" "Must
be at least a thousand here, strewn along the beach,
And even if you had the
time, most you'll never reach.
You really think it makes a difference, to
waste your time this way?"
And then I paused and waited, just to hear
what he would say. He
stooped and took another, and looked me in the eye.
"It makes a difference
to this one sir, this starfish will not die!"
With that, he tossed the
little life, back where there was hope.
He stooped to take another. I could
tell this was no joke. The
words that he spoke to me cut like a surgeon's knife.
Where I saw only numbers,
he saw only life.
He didn't see the multitude of starfish on the sand.
He only saw the little life he held there in his hand. He
didn't stop to argue, to prove that he was right.
He just kept tossing starfish
in the sea with all his might.
So I too stooped, and I picked up, and I tossed
into the sea,
And I thought, just what a difference, that this boy has made
in me. By
Randy Poole (A Missionary in Nicaragua)
From: InspirationPeak.com
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