Something about the Ocean... (Ps 9:1)

I was born in South Florida; raised in DelRay, Boca Raton, Daytona Beach, Tampa Bay. Some of my earliest memories are set in the sand.


Pretending to be a mermaid.
Building (and destroying) sand castles.
Chasing my sister into the waves.
Backfloating over a giant jellyfish.




When I was 13, I was moved to Jacksonville. There are no beaches in Jacksonville.By the time I was 14, I was in Colorado. Beaches had been traded for mountains.

Disclaimer: Not the Rockies. My old pics are in storage.
 If you want to send me a digital, I'd be happy to switch it out.

"Purple-mountains-majesty," in fact. The Colorado Rockies are positively awe-inspiring.  Towering over everything. Acting as a reference point from most anywhere you stand. Always there. Always constant. Anchoring and fortifying. Steadying. Dwarfing anything else on the horizon.

Colorado is a truly lovely state. I lived there for 7 very important years. High school. My first car. My first job. My first (and second) heartbreak. My first apartment. My first college. In Colorado, I met some of my best friends. People, who are solid. Dependable. Constant. Just like the mountains that provided the backdrop for their early lives.

I learned to appreciate the majesty of the mountains.The beautiful lakes. The tall, tall trees. The wild, ruggedness of the land. The absolute constancy. Once I learned to hear the whisper of the mountains, they reminded me that God is always bigger, stronger, more solid than anything I might have to face.

These are not my 21 year old feet, either. :)

When I was 21, my toes finally found their way into the sand again. The cold grey sand of the northern Pacific, which is nothing like the warm golden sand I was used to. 

But it didn't matter. It wasn't really the sand that spoke to me. It was the sea. Despite the fact that it was fall, and freezing, I had to get my feet wet. I danced with the surf, just like a child. I spread my arms wide and twirled; watched the foamy white waves reach out for my toes, and ran away, laughing. Hair in my eyes, laughing, I ran back, again and again, daring the sea to catch me. Laughing. Always laughing.

At some point it did catch me. Or I jumped in. It didn't matter that it was freezing and not at all sensible. It didn't matter who saw me. I abandoned myself to the joy of the moment.  

The sea is in my soul.
Maybe it is because of those early years. Maybe it is how I was wired when I was "knit together in my mother's womb." Whatever the reason, I didn't have to learn to listen to the ocean. 

Its vastness. Its wildness. The unimaginable depths. The currents. The itty bitty algae and the great whales. The intricacy of the ecosystems hidden beneath rippling, shimmering, ever-changing, surface. The sand. The grains of sand that were once shells; shells that once housed and sheltered some living creature. The way the water smooths the sand, no matter what sort of mess it is. Each grain of sand, each tiny phytoplankton, each annoying jellyfish has a story. And God knows that story, and why it mattered. Because to Him, each story matters.


Yes, there's something about the ocean. Choppy or still, it soothes me. Inspires me. Reminds me to trust.
God is there. He knows my story, too. He sees how it fits into the flow of the universe. He can smooth out any messes I might find myself in. He's there, always reaching out, like the waves. Reaching out to me. Over and over again. Always. Until I fall into Him. 

Oh, and, when I dance with the waves, arms open, I have to let go of the things that worry me. 

I will praise you, Lord, with all my heart;
I will tell of all the marvelous things you have done.
 I will be filled with joy because of you.
I will sing praises to your name, O Most High.

-Psalm 9:1