Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Written on the Beach

The ocean is at once wonderful and terrible.

I remember coming here as a child and being fearless. I'd make my way out into the water, farther and farther out, to float on waves that broke high above my head and lifted me at least my heighth off the ocean floor.

The ocean was only beautiful and fun and salty. I loved its vastness, its strong waves and sand full of shells and castles. This is my first trip back as an adult, and I still find the same wonder in me, only now mixed with terror.

The sea hasn't changed. I've lost my innocence before it. I feel, standing on the beach, as I feel standing before God: tiny, amazed and easily swallowed up. It's easier to find the fear of the Lord in nature.

I was walking in the water this morning, wanting to be brave and swim out to where the big waves carry you back to shore, but also wanting to keep my feet on the bottom, and was fearful of possible sea creatures waiting to devour me. I waded for awhile before I realized I was walking sideways down the coast, not actually getting any deeper into the water. Somehow in my mind the walking was enough, even though it was in the wrong direction. My legs were in water weren't they? The Spirit said, "That's how you're walking with me. Your fear is keeping you from depth and though you're moving you're not really getting where you want to go."

1 comment:

Abel said...

I loved the first line of your entry.