I have forgotten...

how much I love to write. I say it a lot, but never seem to remember it. I want to this time.

I found this on a previous blog, and thought it appropriate for when my heart is at the moment. Been learning a lot of lessons, and truth gained through pain is always more rewarding in the end, no matter how much it hurts in the interim.

and right now, it just still hurts.

perspective is a wonderful thing. It is the thing that gives us the ability to press on when everything inside of us says, no more, I can take, no more. It is the thing that allows us to see the world and our lives from another angle, another view, and walk away encouraged and strengthened. I think that it is sometimes like seeing the ocean from far away, from a cliff or a mountain, and then a few short hours later finding yourself sitting on its shore. The thing that seemed so massive and cold from far away suddenly becomes a place of solace and rest, and warmth and peace. Instead of being overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the ocean, you sit, comforted by the sound of the waves, and the smell of the sea, and you feel nothing but safe. This massive thing, the ocean, able to kill thousands without warning, has now, from this perspective, become your best friend and safest ally.

I think God is a lot like the ocean. From far away, He is scary, and big, and completely and utterly overwhelming, but from close up, from the shore, He is the safest thing in the world. He is the sound of the ocean, the smell of the sea, the playfulness of the surf, and the stillness of the morning sunrise. He is the best of everything that the ocean has to offer, the warm water splashing on your legs as your toes curl around the sand, the stillness of the twilight when everyone else has gone home and there is only you and the seagulls finding their dinner in the surf, the dolphins playing in the waves, and the last glimpse of light as the sun sets below the horizon. He is all these things and more.

But we tend to miss all these things, both about the ocean and about God. I remember one time at the beach, the woman on the blanket next to me yelled out to her husband, "Turn up the radio! I can't hear it over the sound of the waves!" In order to really see the ocean for what it is, an invitation to grace, we have to be still enough to hear the call. We have to be willing to stop everything else that a day has to offer, and just be still, and know. Know what? That this massive thing, this great expanse, this unknowable and uncontainable, uncontrollable and unfathomable being, is also a place where we, where I have meaning, where the trivial things of this world fade away, and the only thing I want is to hear the sound of the waves over the sound of anything else. It is a place where I am safe, where I am surrendered to the things around me, willingly, and all I long for is the first light of day, the first sound of the morning, the smell of the water, the salty air in my lungs, the sand around my toes, and to know that I am free, and that I am safe, even in a place that really isn't safe at all.

I think it's a bit like in 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe', when Lucy asks the Beavers if Aslan is safe.
"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.
"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver. "Don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."

No, God is not safe, but He is good. I think, though, that most of us, and I include myself in this, tend to see Him from far away and think, I will never understand that, I will never fathom who He is or what He is, and in our frail and human sinfulness stop there. We never come down off the cliffs, and instead content ourselves with knowing that He is there. We never really stop to think about what it would be like to walk with Him, to really talk with Him, not just because He is so powerful and worthy, but because He is good.

I miss the ocean. I miss the sand around my toes, the water splashing against my feet, wrapping itself around me, and drawing me in. I miss the sounds, the smells, and the feel of who I am when I am there. I miss being at peace with the world around me, and knowing that I am part of a greater whole that is so much bigger than anything I wil ever understand, but that as I surrender to it, it saves me, by grace, by a greater grace than that of human words or understanding, but of a still small voice that just says, come.

I miss God.