Living by the Ocean.

On the Shore.
A couple months ago, I remember having one of those rough days. I had snuck off work early and ended up sitting on the floor of my bathroom, crying hopelessly as a wave of grief made it's way to where it hurts the most. I don't know how to explain it. Sometimes, the waves are shallow and don't reach too far. I am able to mask it enough to continue going about my day as if there was no wave at all, like I was just walking the shoreline. The water feels cold, but does not hinder me from walking normally on 2 feet. But there are those days and moments where the wave has been building up and crashes before I was even aware I was standing next to the ocean. Grief is like that. It's like standing with your back to the sea with no indication of where the tide is or when a storm is coming. The only thing you know is that it is, indeed, coming...

But the ocean. It is majestic, full of mystery. Dangerous, but completely alluring. It's not extremely predictable and there are parts untouched, unseen. There is a healthy feeling of fear and respect for it because there are a lot of unknowns. The beach is a place I feel the closest to God and maybe the closest to a accurate feeling of awe of Him. His presence there is tangible, a mixture of love and fear and awe and connectedness to a magnificent Creator God. It makes me want to jump into the adventure of it all, go under and all in with the one who is in control of it.

Drowning in Grace.
I want to clarify that this particular post does not have a lot to do with my mom at all. I miss her and I still struggle to trust that it is all in God's hands, but, this is about the, dare I say, adventure of grieving with my Father, my Creator. This adventure can be paralyzingly unnerving. It's like I plunged into the water on accident and I was drowning. I regretted ever wanting to be in this wild story, this open ocean, fully trusting Him who I felt betrayed by. My faith was shaken and still is. It's not all fun and easy and a skipping, joyful walk with my Lord. It's hard. It sucks and I've found out how much I suck in it. But I look back at the girl on the shore and I don't know her anymore. I wouldn't hesitate to tell you "no" if you asked if I wanted to go back. GASP! So, am I saying that I do not want to go back to when my mom was present and alive and well?! I can only roll my eyes at that question. Of course, I still need my mom and always will, but let me try to explain my thinking on this one. Bear with me.

Someone very close to me once told me "Life has dealt you a crappy hand of cards." (Now before anyone thinks "wow, how horrible," Stop. There is a lot more context to that statement. It was real and genuine and said by someone who, of anyone I know, had a right to say it.) I agreed initially, but pondered the thought. I asked myself honestly if I felt I had just been dealt some crappy cards. In my mind, it was a resounding "No!" Take note that at this point, I was still struggling for air in this ocean I had just recently fell into. And yet, in the knowledge of who I knew I was in Christ and in light of eternity, life and death are beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. The fact that each soul is taken unpredictably, that fragile life can hold so much meaning and purpose, that death hurts but is not the end, that someone is in control of it all, and that this world is just a small part of life. That is not crappy. That is glorious and full of grace and purpose. Hills and valleys, both full of color and life.

Less like Captive, More like Willing.
My particular life story is intertwined with everyone else and ultimately is just a few colors on God's grand masterpiece. In Christ, the chaos of it all, the striving toward controlling every piece of it that I can melts away into a complete and unique trust in my Savior. Each time I surrender, another color emerges on the painting. I cannot predict the future, I cannot stop it from happening, but I can surrender and let myself melt for the One who spoke the world into existence. I don't have to know it all, I don't have to fully comprehend the whole picture. Luckily, God is working on his canvas regardless of how cooperative I am. The pressure is off to perform. The desire is bigger than ever to relent and commit to knowing more and more of who this amazing God is.

This is the adventure I am on with Jesus. I know it began even before I was on the shore watching the waves, before I fell into deep waters. And what a miracle it is that it got better when everything around me got worse. That's the power of my Jesus. I can't turn back.