August 4, 2014

the ocean has its own gravity.

The ocean has its own gravity. I can't explain the feeling any other way. In a lot of ways, time on the seashore is so far removed from what I'd normally consider fun or relaxing or life-giving in any sort of way.

The sand sticks to everything: I abhor a sticky mess. I'm so tidy, so meticulous about so many things. And that fine, white grit simply gets everywhere.

The water isn't guaranteed to be clean of seaweed and muck and creatures hidden in the sand. And really, I love creatures, I do. But not so close!

There's so many people. As far as the eye can see: water, sand and people everywhere. I'd much prefer to be secluded as I gather my thoughts together.

And I'm scared of the deepness. I can swim just fine, but the thought of the sheer expanse of this water around me and beneath me is terrifying.















But as I took a deep breath and took my tired, hungry baby to our beach blanket for his afternoon "nursies", I looked out at the horizon and then cast a glance left-right at the people to either side to see who might notice. Do you know what I realized in that moment?

We all are so small. I, myself, am imperceptible altogether next to this great, wide ocean. The person next to me that seemed to loom so close is drawn into the distance by the expanse of green, foaming water in front of us. We have become tiny here, pinpricks, so very little in this world.

In that moment, I found isolation on a busy beach: just me and my son, dissolving into the sand like specks while the crashing water loomed ahead and no one noticed as we communed with one another and God Himself that afternoon.
Thank You, God, for this most amazing time and for Your Love and Your attention toward me even though I am so little and imperfect and grasping for meaning in this vaporous life when all you ever wanted from me was me, and love love love...
(Images captured July 25-27, 2014 in Panama City Beach, Florida)

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