A week ago, J and I got up in the early dark, packed our car, and hit the road.  While we were looking forward to our destination in the Florida panhandle, we were also excited about the trip itself. We are good road-trippers; we share the driving evenly, entertain one another through the boring stretches, and just generally enjoy the fun of being together with the world sealed outside the windows.

We arrived in good time to our rental condo and proceeded to have the most lovely, relaxing, enjoyable week we’ve had in years.  The condo, rented from the owners online, was spacious and beautiful in restful yellows, blues, and greens.  The view was as beachfront as it gets.  The weather was perfect, just enough clouds to keep the color of the sea shifting from deep blues to near emerald-green.

Our condo rental included free reservation of beach chairs and an umbrella, so each morning we woke up, had our devotion time out on the balcony, packed up a cooler (more on that in another post) and headed down to the chairs.  We spent hours down there each day, sitting in cool, breezy shade, surrounded by white sugar sand, and captivated by the enormous expanse of wide, tumbling, ever-changing ocean in front of us.  I’ve been fortunate to visit many beaches throughout my life, some several times over, and on every arrival, that first glimpse of the ocean never fails to take my breath away.   I always think of Job 38:11, where God uses the sea itself as He reminds Job of His creative power, saying He alone could have told the ocean “This far and no farther will you come.  Here your proud waves must stop!”.

The first day the sea was calm with gentle swells, and we could wade far out and still see down to our toes in the clear water.  That night, although our weather was clear, there were storms out at sea, and the next day the ocean had taken on a completely different personality.  The red flags flew on the beach warning of dangerous surf, and foamy waves smashed into the sand, driven at an angle by the winds.  We went back into the water but stayed around knee-depth this time, holding hands to keep one another steady and laughing when we were smacked soundly by one particularly powerful wave.  When we weren’t playing in the water, we were watching it, listening to it, and even lulled to sleep by it back under the shade of the umbrella.

One of the things that fascinates me so about the ocean is that it never, ever stops.  It changes by force of tide or storm or season, but it can be counted on to continually put on a show, whether it’s full noon and the beaches are packed or in the darkest night with no one there to appreciate it.  We watched the gulls and the sandpipers, which are special favorites of mine, running along in search of food or simply standing, facing in to the wind to keep their feathers from undue ruffling.  They have learned to adapt to the changing conditions and the occasional soaking from a faster-than-expected wave.  I’m learning that too.  There is a deep sense of peace that comes from facing something so large and acknowledging there is not one single thing I could possibly do to control it.  I can’t ordain the timing of the waves, their strength, or their stopping point on the sand.  I can splash in play along the edges, but I can’t see the world of life I know is lurking in the depths just a little further in.  It makes me aware of how small I am, and how big God is to have created such a thing.

That thought could be rather scary if you see God as a distant, fearsome judge.  Let the words of Zephaniah 3:17 show you a different picture:

For the Lord your God is living among you.
He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
With his love, he will calm all your fears.
He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”

Whatever shore you’re walking along today, may the breeze be gentle and the waters soothing and calm.  But if that’s not where you are, stand strong like the gulls.  Face into the wind and trust Him and one day, you will take your wings and soar over those waters.