There are so many islands in the island nation of Vanuatu that I don’t think they can be counted.  Many are small, unnamed, and uninhabited.  I looked across the bay at one such island, and longed to go there and explore.  As I stared across the water, I discovered a sand bar that reached in an arc from the mainland almost clear to the island.  Some parts of the sand bar were submerged, but it appeared that only some shallow wading would be required to get my companions and me across the water to that place of adventure.

The water was warm as we stepped into it.  The submerged areas weren’t even knee deep.  Crossing to the other side was a snap.  Interesting sea shells lay scattered along both water lines of the narrow sand bar.  Small waves came at us from both the right and the left, and splashed together right where we were standing.  It was obvious that the sand bar had been formed by waves from the open ocean that had to split and come around opposite sides of the small island.

The sand bar and the island were idyllic.  I searched for sea shells.  One companion searched for interesting pieces of coral.  Another went swimming in the warm waters.  Another explored the interior of the island.  We were each lost in our own pursuits in a place few people will ever see.

The explorer discovered a trail, and bade the rest of us to follow.  We crossed to the other side of the island, and found spectacular vistas and more interesting diversions.

When we’d exhausted the possibilities on that side of the island we retraced our steps to the point of beginning where one of the group made a very unsettling discovery.  The sand bar was missing!  As we had been exploring and playing and being oblivious, the tide had been coming in.  Feeling our way with our feet, we were just able to follow the ridgeline of the submerged sand bar, and managed to regain the mainland without swimming, but just barely.  The areas that hadn’t even been knee deep before were now nearly up to our chests.

This has set me wondering.  Isn’t our experience similar to the Second Coming of the Savior?  We’re all aware that tides and the Second Coming are things that are going to happen, but many of us forget.  We get diverted.  We fail to watch.  We don’t think.  We have plenty of time, as we suppose, so why worry?

And one day we awaken to the fact that our way back to the mainland has been cut off.  The route is gone.  The opportunity has been lost.  The tide has come in.  The Savior has arrived, and we can’t be with Him because we’ve been busy with our own diversions.

I was once nearly a castaway on a deserted isle.  The worst that would have happened would have been a 12-hour, overnight wait under a tree accompanied by a good deal of remorse about my stupidity.  The Lord’s Second Coming will similarly be an unwelcome surprise to some, and will be accompanied by a good deal of weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth.

“Watch therefore:  for ye know not the hour your Lord doth come.”  (Matt. 24:42).

We certainly won’t want to be castaways in that day.