Where Feet May Fail.

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I cannot remember a time when I did not love the beach. The first time my feet graced the sands I was probably four years old. It’s all I’ve known. I’ve grown up going to the ocean at least once a year.

I cannot explain exactly what it is I love about the ocean. It’s being surrounded by the sea breeze, dipping my toes in the foamy remnants of waves, the beginning of such depth.

That love of salt water, of waves building and breaking, of sand creeping into every crevice, has been ingrained into my being so much that I feel I am one with the waters. When I am separated from the rhythm of the waves, my heart aches. The moment the sound of the tide echoes through the walls in my heart, I am home.

It is here, in the presence of immensity, that I am so aware of God. I hear His voice in the rising of waters deep and whispers of His praises float in the wind.

I see Him everywhere. I hear Him. I feel Him.

And shouldn’t it be like this all the time?

It’s here, when I step out onto the crumbling edge, where land meets the unknown, that I feel the most stripped away, vulnerable and raw. I stand, feet hanging off the ledge, toes just tasting the depths, hair taken by the wind, arms stretching to take it all in, face to the sky.

And I feel it all.

God is mighty and vast. He is sheer beauty. He is an artist and creator who crafted this place knowing I would be captured by it.

Maybe the purpose of the ocean and the waves is to be completely enraptured by the Creator.

Maybe He has shaped the wonders of the world so that when I look on in awe, my affections would be directed to the Maker of it all.

I have an artist’s heart, one that longs to create and make beautiful things. On the occasion that I have taken the time to nicely mat and frame a photograph I particularly love, I have signed my name very small beneath the image, so it can be known that the photograph was made my me.

This is what God does. Only, His Name is not a small after-thought one must search for. His Name is signed across the sky, etched in the ripples of waves, spelled out by twinkling lights in the heavens.

His works scream His name.

The same God who molded the earth into countless wonders is the God who formed me out of nothing. Breathed His life into me and placed His Spirit inside of me.

That thought humbles me.

Even when I was far away from anything good, even when I was lost and drowning in a sea of shame and guilt, even when I still rebel, He has called me His. He has called me beautiful.

And like the tide is pulled in towards the shore, I am drawn to Him because that is all there is. To be drawn closer and closer to the One who never fails. The painter of the skies, the maker of all that is good, the creator of my own heart, the one that knows me and loves me still.

Like the skies shout His name, may our lives point back to His glory, may we be the mounds of clay He shapes into works that carry His name, so that we may reflect His heart and be used for His purposes.

May we venture out into the waters, where our feet may fail, knowing He never will.