Shorelines or beaches have many different personalities, and each one can have a different personality depending on the day you visit it. Today, Rebekah and I went for a walk at the Dungeness Spit, a beautiful park where you can hike down to the water of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
It wasn't one of those perfect, sunny, happy days where the waves are laughing and calling for me to join them in dance. It is February, after all! It seemed, rather, that the straits were sleeping. It was if it was snoring - inhaling, pulling up the water, forming it into a wave at the peak of the breath and then exhaling the white foam with involuntary force on to the shore. The sand was deep and wet lending to the essence of sleepy heaviness all around. I felt a little uneasy standing there, as I did when I was a child and stood next to my dad when he was sleeping. I remember thinking it wouldn't be a good idea to wake him.
I was surrounded by dark, gray, wet, bone-chilling cold - land, sky and sea, and I knew, that if I let it, it would be only too willing to penetrate my being - filling my heart with the same damp, dismal feeling.
But, my heart didn't want to go 'there'. I'm not sure I was aware of making a decision, really, but I was aware of the contrast. There was a living hope, joy and peace that glowed within, like the light of a fireplace, and it could not be extinguished by the elements.
When I looked south toward the mountains, I saw the sun shining effortlessly on a cove. I knew that if I continued walking in that direction, I would reach that spot. I could keep walking with the anticipation of being in the sunlight again.
I reflected on the feelings we experience when the elements of our lives are not bathed in light - how easy it is to allow the coldness, darkness, dampness penetrate our souls and bring us under the heavey, wet weight of sadness, discouragement and despair.
If only we could remember that the sun will shine again! Somewhere down the path or the shore, the clouds will part and the sun will surround and fill us with its warmth and light. If we could remember that, we could keep walking steadily, maybe not joyfully, but steadily, purposefully, and expectantly forward toward the sun.
(This is a short video I happened to take at a moment of unusual wave pattern. Enjoy!)
It wasn't one of those perfect, sunny, happy days where the waves are laughing and calling for me to join them in dance. It is February, after all! It seemed, rather, that the straits were sleeping. It was if it was snoring - inhaling, pulling up the water, forming it into a wave at the peak of the breath and then exhaling the white foam with involuntary force on to the shore. The sand was deep and wet lending to the essence of sleepy heaviness all around. I felt a little uneasy standing there, as I did when I was a child and stood next to my dad when he was sleeping. I remember thinking it wouldn't be a good idea to wake him.
I was surrounded by dark, gray, wet, bone-chilling cold - land, sky and sea, and I knew, that if I let it, it would be only too willing to penetrate my being - filling my heart with the same damp, dismal feeling.
But, my heart didn't want to go 'there'. I'm not sure I was aware of making a decision, really, but I was aware of the contrast. There was a living hope, joy and peace that glowed within, like the light of a fireplace, and it could not be extinguished by the elements.
When I looked south toward the mountains, I saw the sun shining effortlessly on a cove. I knew that if I continued walking in that direction, I would reach that spot. I could keep walking with the anticipation of being in the sunlight again.
I reflected on the feelings we experience when the elements of our lives are not bathed in light - how easy it is to allow the coldness, darkness, dampness penetrate our souls and bring us under the heavey, wet weight of sadness, discouragement and despair.
If only we could remember that the sun will shine again! Somewhere down the path or the shore, the clouds will part and the sun will surround and fill us with its warmth and light. If we could remember that, we could keep walking steadily, maybe not joyfully, but steadily, purposefully, and expectantly forward toward the sun.
(This is a short video I happened to take at a moment of unusual wave pattern. Enjoy!)
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6 comments:
The video is hypnotizing. I love the monochromatic effect of both the still & video -- it conveys the meaning of your text.
You're right! I didn't notice the color scheme! Thank you for pointing it out to me :)
After returning to the Great Pacific Northwest, after an 18-year period of wandering in the wilderness (well, Michigan and Ohio), I came to see the days I'd once found gray and dreary, to be silver and filled with the life-giving moisture which makes this the Evergreen State. So now I thank God for those silver days, and praise Him for the year-around green, and the promise of lush colors tomorrow. Beautiful thoughts from the shore. Thanks.
Thank you, Greg. I neglected to fill this article out with the thought that trials can be beautiful - it all depends on how our hearts see them. Bless you!
Winter is the time of hibernation. We've become a cypernation, which never sleeps. I rather like the idea of being able to sleep like a bear in a cave in the winter. Seems almost like my spirit leaves me in the winter, and goes a sleeping, wandering in warmer landscapes. I love your comparison of the water in winter as sleeping, lapping the shore with each sleeping breath. It's also the image of the fetus, suspended in a watery world, waiting in the dark for a life it cannot imagine.
Beautiful, Sidney! Thank you for your comment!
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