Drifting

 This morning, as I thought about my routines and the small daily things I want to do better, the word drifting came to mind. I felt myself slipping away from some of the good patterns in my life. But with that thought came a memory that is both tender and instructive.

When Kelly and I traveled to the southern coast of Texas for work, we always tried to stay through a weekend so we could enjoy the ocean. We loved everything about it, the sound, the beauty, the way it made us feel. We would gather our beach supplies, set up our chairs, secure everything against the wind, and then walk hand in hand into the water.

The waves were strong, and Kelly always held my hand because he knew how easily they could knock me over. I love this memory of us walking together, and the gentle way he showed his love for me by wanting to help me and stay close to me.

While we played in the water, we tried to stay lined up with our chairs and belongings on the shoreline. That was our marker, our little lighthouse on the sand. But one day, after laughing, catching waves, and simply enjoying being together, we looked up and realized we had drifted far from where we started. The current had quietly carried us down the shoreline without us noticing. The movement was so subtle, disguised by the joy of the moment, that we did not realize it until we looked toward the shore for our marker.

We were safe, but we had set a boundary for ourselves so that returning to our things would not be difficult when we were ready to go back. And we knew that if we did not fight our way upstream, swimming, walking, holding hands, doing whatever it took, we would drift even farther. So, we worked our way back with steady determination, returning to the place we had anchored ourselves, the place that represented our home base.

I love recalling this memory as I thought about drifting spiritually with prayer, scripture study, church, service, and all the things that keep us spiritually grounded. It is so easy to drift. Not because we are rebellious or careless, but because life has currents. Responsibilities, distractions, exhaustion, grief, and even good things can quietly pull us away from where we meant to be.

And just like in the ocean, drifting happens slowly. Softly. Almost pleasantly. Until one day we look up and realize we are no longer aligned with our Savior the way we want to be.

I love knowing that Jesus Christ never moves. He never drifts. He simply waits for us to look up and notice where we are. And when we do, He helps us return, gently, patiently, and without shame.

Drifting is part of mortality. It is not failure; it is the natural pull of a world full of currents. The lesson is not to never drift. The lesson is to  notice sooner. Look up more often. Check our alignment. Pay attention to where the current is carrying us.

And when we realize we have drifted, we just need to turn back toward Him. The Savior is not measuring how far we drift. He is watching how often we reach for Him.