PICHILEMU, MY CHILEAN HOME, is known as the Capital of the Surf. People come from all over the world to ride our waves. My husband, Mitch, and I have lived here since the eldest of our five children was a baby, surfing and spreading the Gospel, living it in our home as well. A couple Easters ago, I was especially focused on our youngest, 13-year-old Katrina. She and I had been talking about Easter in preparation for the upcoming service, but I wasn’t sure how much had really gotten through. Katrina has Down syndrome, and she often had trouble making herself understood. How could I know my daughter’s questions so I could fully convey the power of the Easter message?
“Why don’t we go to the beach?” I said. Floating on our surfboards in God’s ocean seemed a pretty good place to talk about miracles.
“Yay!” Katrina said and ran off to find her powder-blue board. She was a strong swimmer on the local team and a good surfer too. That was no surprise in my family—Mitch would rather surf than eat, and I’d been a lifeguard for years in California. Katrina had a childlike wonder about the sea. Sandcastles, surfing, starfish—all were magical to her. Through her eyes, it was magical to me too.
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