Receiving My Tomorrows

“Lord, I can’t believe I’m actually sitting here—on Waikiki Beach—as a guest of the Moana Surfrider Hotel!”  I inhaled slowly, breathing in the salty air on the picture-perfect July morning.  It truly was a dream come true, something that only God could have orchestrated.   

As a teenager in the late 1970s, when my father was stationed on Oahu, my friends and I would take the bus to Honolulu and spend our summer days roaming the streets of Waikiki.  We enjoyed people-watching, meandering in and out of fancy hotel lobbies—always hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity.  We explored the famous Ilikai Hotel and its marina, the iconic Royal Hawaiian, and wandered through the shops at the Hilton Hawaiian Village.  But it was the Moana Surfrider—the grand old Victorian tucked serendipitously between the towering concrete masses—that captivated me.

I remember the first time our adventure took us to the Moana.  Her welcoming front porch was lined with pristine white rocking chairs.  As I stepped inside her airy lobby, I caught my breath.  I’d never stood in the midst of such elegance!  Sunshine reflected off polished dark wood floors. Sheer curtains billowed in the afternoon breeze.  The pleasing scent of tropical flowers tickled my nose.

Suddenly, my heart pounded.  I was woefully aware that I was out of place.  The old hotel exuded wealth, and her guests walked right past me—the invisible, ordinary teen wearing faded off-brand clothing.  Their disapproving stares prompted me to quickly suggest to my friends that we needed to check out the beach.  After all, that was where we’d have the best chance of spotting someone famous.    

In 1999, on my visit back to the island for my 20th class reunion, a friend and I stopped by the Moana Surfrider.  As we walked through her still-grand lobby, I heard the Moana whisper to me, “What I offer will always be unattainable to you. You are not worthy to stay here.”

Yet, there I was, sitting in her beach chair and basking in the sunshine on her private beachfront.  The best part? My employer was paying the bill. In a series of “only God” events, I was there with a coworker to attend a weeklong conference at Pearl Harbor.  I wasn’t originally selected to go, but a last-minute change by my supervisor had me cold-calling more than a dozen hotels, but all were booked solid.  My gut fluttered at a possibility—what if the Moana had availability?  And what if they offered government per diem rates?  I hesitated for a moment, imagining the reservations clerk laughing haughtingly at my questions.  I gathered my courage and dialed.  When I hung up, I grinned big—the Lord was up to something!  I had reservations at my dream hotel—something that I’d always considered unattainable!

While my coworker and her husband chose to use free time to do touristy things, I opted to spend my time getting the most out of my Moana experience.  I peopled watched from a front porch rocker, explored the hotels’ nooks and crannies, and lounged by the pool by the massive banyan tree.  However, my favorite place was the beach chair facing the busy beach.   

That particular morning, I settled into the chair and closed my eyes, basking in the moment.  When I first found out I’d be attending the conference, in my prayer time, I asked the Lord, “Why are you taking me back to Hawaii?  On my reunion trip, You revealed the true purpose of my trip was to cast my yesterdays in the deep, to let go of my painful childhood memories.  So, what’s the real reason this time?”  Unmistakeably, I heard His answer in the depth of my heart: “To receive your tomorrows.”

Now, here I was, days into my trip, and I still didn’t have a clue what “receiving my tomorrows” meant.  I had ruled out that it wasn’t anything the conference offered, and I was pretty sure it had to be more than just the blessing of staying at a luxury hotel.   

I wiggled in the beach chair to get comfortable and opened the Bible study I’d brought along.  The lesson— believing I am who God says I am—challenged me.  While I answered the questions quickly and easily, I knew applying it—putting feet to the truth and walking it out—was going to be a work-in-progress.  I closed my workbook, set it aside, and walked down the water.

The truth was that life was hard—mostly because it wasn’t following my script.  My greatest desire was to be a wife and mother—but I’d been divorced for more than a decade, only casually dated a few times, and there was no fairy-tale prince in sight.  My current job was not one I’d chosen—it was one I’d been moved to when our command reorganized.  While I was grateful to be employed, my days were filled with technical things in which I had no interest.  Yet, that job was the only reason I was wading in the warm tropical waters.

As the water lapped at my feet, I sensed I needed to be patient in my wait for God’s revelation.

Several more days passed.  My journal entries documented my impatience.  What if revelation didn’t come?  What if I’d imagined the whole receiving-my-tomorrows thing?  Or had the Lord already given me the answer and I’d missed it?

“Lord, time is running out!  Today’s the last day of the conference.  You know I committed to sightseeing with my coworker tomorrow, and we leave the next day!”

I glanced at the clock and tossed my journal aside.  It was time to get ready for the workday. 

I climbed into the tub and stood beneath the warm shower spray, willing the heat to chase away my tension. As I reached for the shampoo, I suddenly became acutely aware of my surroundings—and it sucked the breath from my lungs.  Everything about the bathroom—the color of the tile, the lighting, even the fragrance of the shampoo—was just like the bathroom in our house when I was growing up.  Catapulted back in time, my old teenage insecurities and fears—things I thought I’d dealt with—consumed me with a vengeance. Desperate to escape, I shut off the water, yanked back the shower curtain, and grabbed the towel.  At that moment, the Lord spoke to my heart.

“Sharon, you have a choice to make. Are you going to continue to listen to the not-enough tapes you play in your mind, or are you going to believe you are who I say you are?”

I swallowed hard. My critical self-talk began when I was a teen. I was never pleased with the image that peered back at me from the bathroom mirror.  My negative self-perception was a stumbling block.

Tears flowed down my face. I wiped the fog off the mirror and studied my image. My future depended on my response.  I looked at the woman in the mirror.

“Lord, I am who You say that I am. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I am chosen and beloved. Forgiven and redeemed.  I am Yours, created for Your good pleasure and for Your purpose.”

God had lovingly taken me back to the beauty of Hawaii—the place where I’d first told myself the ugly lies—to reveal His Truth.  Even more, my feet were firmly planted on the vintage ceramic tile of a bathroom in a hotel that had once told me I was not worthy.

The familiar image stared back, but with a fresh inkling of hope in her eyes.

“And, Lord, I’m ready to receive my tomorrows.”

I will give thanks to You, because I am awesomely and wonderfully made;

Wonderful are Your works,

And my soul knows it very well. ~ Psalm 139:14