Today I had an off day of surfing.

The wind was stronger than expected. It was kind of crowded for my spot. Waves were wrapping from the West and peaking, breaking almost perpendicular to shore.

When I first arrived I said a little prayer “Lord, if you want me to surf, give me a parking spot.” I drove around and, what do you know, a really nice spot near the showers opens up. As soon as I get out of the car I feel the breeze briskly picking up speed, starting to blow side-shore. I wasn’t feeling it. But the late-morning was beautiful, a classic looking south shore of O’ahu kind of day. So I grabbed my camera and took some photos of the sun glistening off the water, Diamond Head in the back ground, people paddling and swimming in the foreground—a photo that could have existed over a hundred years ago. Took close-up photos of the rocks, testing out a 25 year old digital camera I got for Christmas, to replace an exact model I had short-sightedly given away years back.

I return to my car and stare at the water. An uncle next to me is gearing up to paddle out. Another uncle, his friend, comes over and they start talking story. I decide to call it and make my way around toward the driver’s side.

“Eh! You going out?!” the other uncle says.

“Nah. Too windy.”

“Can I have your stall, den?”

“Sure.”

“I come back. Get one brown SUV. Eh watch my water bottle while I go gettum.”

As he leaves his water bottle on the curb and walks away I look at his friend and I joke: “he’s very trusting. Gotta watch out for these haoles you know!” I say with a smile. “We known for taking things.”

“Eh,” the first uncle says with a dismissive tone. “All kinds of people can do all kinds of things.”

We get to talking. Richard is his name. I’ve seen him in the water before, but he usually paddles out shortly as I’m heading in. Today I’m at the spot at a later time. He urges me to go out.

“Too crowded. Plus I told your friend I’d give up my spot for him.”

He dismisses this and tells me it’s good and I need to go out. Eventually the brown SUV comes rolling around. I give shakas and say goodbye as I drive away. About five cars down I see another car pulling out. As I drive past I can’t shake the feeling that this is all God’s way of telling me that I need to paddle out. So I loop around and pull into the other spot. This one is actually better because it has more shade. I pull down my 11-foot glider (pretty much my exclusive board for the past three years), sunscreen, wetsuit vest zipped up. And I walk over to the cut between rocks where I can paddle out. I see Richard and I tell him that he convinced me to change my mind. He gives a loud approval.

I make the paddle in good time. The crowd thinned a bit in the interim. Waves have power. I see a few familiar faces, folks I did not expect to see in the water because they’re usually out at my normal time. I see a wave on the horizon, taking shape. I whip my board around and paddle. I feel the momentum taking me so I hop to my feet. The wave is beginning to break in front of me, so I go to fade left and surf on my back-hand. But there’s no face there. The wave is a strict right. So I fade back to front-side and try to get into it. I squat and begin scooping at the water, hoping to pick up more speed, but no dice. So I paddle back out, chuckling to myself.

After a while I see a set forming on the horizon. No one seems to be going for it, so I spin around and start paddling. I easily catch the wave and drop in, going right. I squat a bit in the face and then stand to adjust my position, dropping down the face in order to carve my way back up. But I see that it’s walling up too far ahead and is going to close out. So I fade back left to see another closing section coming behind me. So I turn to go straight and ride out the whitewater. But I get caught between two breaking sections, the foam engulfing my board and I feel the force underneath me. I get knocked off my board and plunged under the foam. I feel the chaos of the colliding waves rolling over me and I surrender to the current. Once the wave fully passes I surface. Another wave is breaking, but I have enough time to take stock of my surroundings and know that my board has made its way toward shore, pretty far from my location.

So I start swimming.

At this point I should probably note that I prefer to surf without a leash. Unless it’s particularly big and/or crowded, I’ll forego having a urethane chord dancing about my feet. Leashes can give us a sense of false security. They can and will fail and so we need to be prepared to swim when that eventually happens. Plus, leash-free surfing forces one to be more intentional in their surfing, as well as cognizant of one’s board.

It’s been awhile since I’ve had a long swim for a board. Since I’m wearing a wet-suit vest, I have some buoyancy and I have better results from flipping on my back and kicking my way toward my board. I hold my breath and descend under white water, wait for the roll of the wave to wash over me, return to the surface, and then kick my way again.

There’s always a threat of panic in the back of my mind when I have to swim for a board. I’m pretty far from the beach where I surf and there’s a lot of water. Also infrequent tiger shark sightings. But I keep myself calm. Eventually I see that an off-duty lifeguard who surfs my spot has retrieved my board. I thank him and grab it. I bob on the inside, considering the time and effort it would take to get my leash. Nah. I’ll paddle back out.

As I’m nearing the outside, I see the lifeguard wipe out. His big yellow board is bouncing among the whitewater, making its way to shore. He, too, is not wearing a leash. So I turn my board around and grab some whitewater and make my way to where his board is bobbing on the shallow reef. I grab it and start paddling in his direction. He gets it. I tell him we’re even. We both laugh and paddle back out.

By the time I make it back outside, I’m getting tired. I tell one of the uncles I know that I got my swim in for the day and he laughs. The wind has significantly picked up and is blowing almost onshore. After a time I see another wave making its way toward me. It’s mine. I paddle and begin to make the drop a bit later than I was expecting. So I grab the rails and decide to ride it on my belly. The speed is unreal. I’m constantly on the verge of being rolled over, but I keep my composure and let myself fly toward the beach. I decide that I’m not about to paddle back out. This will be the ride, for what it’s worth.

The wave peters out in the shallows of the reef. The tide is nearly dead low, which means that I’ll have to be careful not to let my fin hit anything.

I’m a good surfer. I’ve been at it for 26 years. I get long nose rides on the well-formed South Shore faces. I drop in and run my hands along the face of the waves. I’ve even garnered compliments for my ability to hit the lip with an 11-foot board, on occasion. I’ve shaped boards, ridden a variety of designs. I know the mythology and the legends. I know surfing inside and out.

And I still have off days.

Blessed be the off days.

That saying came into my mind as I carefully paddled over the shallow reef. A large honu (sea turtle) popped its head up next to me. “Hey, cuz!” I said. It swam directly under my board.

This past Sunday we heard Jesus give the Beatitudes. There’s a tendency to read the Beatitudes as Jesus giving us a list of rewards: “be a peacemaker, get a blessing; put up with grief and persecution; get a blessing.” But Jesus is actually saying that peace-making, grieving, being persecuted, being poor in spirit, etc. are themselves blessings. In the Greek language that Matthew’s gospel was maybe first written in, the Beatitudes are in what’s called the “indicative mood.” Meaning that the blessings are indicated by the other stuff. The blessings aren’t rewards for doing certain things.

This idea translates broadly. An off-day of surfing is a blessing, if I choose to see it. Blessed be the off days, because they help you appreciate the better days. Or, Blessed be the off days, because they make you a better swimmer.

I didn’t get to have a morning of beautiful glides on my huge board. I didn’t get to run to the nose and hang ten on a perfectly groomed wave face. I didn’t even get to drop in while squatted down, feeling the cool water with my fingers as I experience the thrill of dropping into the face of a wave and setting myself up for an elegant bottom turn to set my rail and just… go.

Nope. I got wiped out. I swam a lot. I got skunked on wind-blown waves that were both somehow mushy and strong.

But I got in the water. I learned that I’m finally mature enough to appreciate even the days where my surfing kinda sucks.

Blessed be the off days, indeed.

***

The Rev. Charles Browning II is the rector of Saint Mary’s Episcopal Church in Honolulu, Hawai’i. He is a husband, father, surfer, and frequent over-thinker. Follow him on Mastodon and Pixelfed.

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