An Ode to the Ocean

Growing up in North Carolina, I was raised as a beach baby in a quite literal sense of the phrase.  My mom’s family turned an old fishing shack into a quaint and homey beach house and my lungs inhaled salty air for the first time when I was about six weeks old.  From a young age, I found that the ocean waves always seem to carry me to a greater awareness of God’s presence.

It’s been nearly three years now since I packed all of my material possessions into my mom’s old Honda Accord and moved to the northwest corner of the completely landlocked state of Arkansas.  People still ask me all of the typical you-aren’t-from-these-parts questions like, “Is North Carolina very different from Arkansas?” “What do you miss most about living in South Carolina?” (I don’t hold it against them when they can’t remember which Carolina I’m from because, to be fair, I thought Arkansas was probably somewhere near Colorado before I moved here.  Geography is hard.)  My easy answer to the second question is always, “I miss the ocean.”

I wish that I had a snapshot of my face the first time somebody replied, “Well, we have lakes here and those are basically the same.”  They probably had to pick my jaw up off the floor.  I’ve since figured out that a better response is to gently ask if they’ve ever seen an ocean in real life.  Nine times out of ten the person sitting across from me will confess that no, they’ve never been to a real beach.  In that case, I guess I can’t really fault them for not understanding the unique majesty of crashing waves, salty wind, and sand between your toes.

And to be fair, I have developed a fond affection for rivers and lakes and the occasional waterfall that you’ll find splashed across the Arkansas landscape.  Some days though, a river just isn’t going to cut it.  So recently I found myself sitting in my car, head on the steering wheel, halfway through a long week, and focusing all of my mental energy on convincing myself that I was actually at the beach and the sound of cars speeding by was actually the sound of crashing waves.

Their horns reminded me of the seagulls that I used to chase as a little girl – pumping my legs as hard as I could and flapping my arms wildly.  Causing quite a scene, I’m sure. I remember how glorious it felt to simply run – unhindered, unselfconscious, and completely free.

It’s at the beach that I can fill my lungs with salty air and I remember it’s okay to let my eyes fill with salty tears every once in awhile, too. And when those tears spill over and run down my cheeks, I remember that there’s hardly an ache in this world, or at least in my own fragile heart, that can’t be helped with a little salt water – whether from tear ducts or the wide open sea.

It’s at the beach that I remember to bend down and train my eyes to see the little glimpses of beauty hiding amidst all the gritty, ordinary sands of life, even if some of the pretty things are a little bit broken or worn down around the edges.

And sometimes, on the really hard days, the sacred search for beauty among ashes means I have to get down on my hands and knees and dig my fingers right down into that sand that scrapes and scratches and tears at my skin.

And as I sift and search, I am reminded that sometimes you dig and dig and dig and nothing seems to be beautiful until suddenly a ray of sunlight shines right down on your little heap of sand.  Miraculously, the grains that seemed so dull and ordinary now glimmer and sparkle in His Light, and I remember that they could all become pearls with just a little bit of friction.

Then I wander back to the water and rinse off all the grains and granules and grime only to find that my own hands have been softened by all the searching and the scraping and the almost-pearls. 

And I remember to lift those very hands up in praise to the One who washes me cleaner with His own blood than the ocean ever could – the same One who calms the storm and quiets my anxious heart and quenches all my thirst with the Living Water.  Above the noise of the crashing waves, I hear Him whisper – to me, to you, to each and every one of us – “I have loved you with an everlasting love.” (Jeremiah 31:3, ESV)

An everlasting love, friends.

I guess what I’m saying is that the beach refocuses my gaze on Jesus. So when I feel that familiar longing for the smell of salty air and the sound of crashing waves, perhaps all I really need is to point my soul back to the blessed, boundless ocean of His grace.

Maybe your soul could use a gentle refocusing today too?  If so, I invite you to close your eyes, even just for a moment, and imagine the ocean.  Whether it’s a peaceful shore or a choppy storm, do you see your Savior?  He’s there, walking toward you on the waves.