There is a rhythmic reminder in the ocean tide and a great truth deep in the expanse of the sea, that we have such little control over, nor understanding of, the ways in which God is working. When I lived in San Clemente, CA, I spent evening after sacred evening at the shoreline, as the tide ebbed and flowed, lost in my smallness, overwhelmed by the beauty that surrounded me. I can still sit here at my desk a thousand miles away and, in a deep breath, rekindle peace from the rhythm of the tide as if the ocean is in front of me whispering grace in each gently lapping wave.
I often consider the ocean a life-giving piece of my story, but last week as we rested in the mountains, surrounded by all the spectacular colors of autumn and dear friends, and in faith chorused the old hymn It Is Well with My Soul, the stanza, “When sorrows like sea billows roll...” took me off guard.
The ocean is my happy place and yet the whole song is written around the harsh truth that the ocean also swallows, pounds, destroys. It isn’t always the picture of serenity we all dream of sitting alongside, umbrellaed cocktail in hand, waves tickling our toes More often than not, coastlines are pummeled by wind and waves and the horizon line of the sea is met with foreboding clouds. Just consider the millions of people impacted by hurricanes in this season alone.
The reality of the deep sea is that sea billows are always rolling. Sometimes they wash out vessels in the sea, sometimes the billows make it all the way to shore, but they’re always rolling.
And suddenly the place I found peace is unsettling to me.
The rhythmic tide that ebbs and flows also washes, crashes, mixes, sifts and does not stop. No matter how hard we hope for sunny skies at the beach, we cannot control the billows of sea.
Our life the past six weeks has followed an oceanic pattern. Gentle waves for a couple days, sunkissed sunsets, moments of life and grace, and then without missing a beat, the rhythm changes to a pounding, relentless beat and sorrows like sea billows roll. It’s been hard to make sense of it all, mostly because ocean is seemingly unpredictable. One moment raging seas, the next minute sun breaking through, the gentle rhythm resuming, the only evidence of a storm is the washed up debris on the shoreline.
It sounds more than a bit dramatic, but in all honesty, there have been many moments where I have felt like washed up, forgotten debris. The feeling of smallness returns only instead of overwhelmed by grace, I feel a bit more like I’m drowning in the uncertainty and vastness of the dark sea in front of me.
But somehow, after the ocean literally swallowed up his four daughters, Horatio Spafford could write,
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea-billows roll,
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say;
It is well, it is well with my soul.
There are days I can’t fathom having the faith Spafford did to pen those words as he sailed over the spot that claimed his children’s lives, but no matter how much I don’t understand what the ocean contains or how much I don’t feel like it is predictable, I’m reminded this morning that there is peace found in knowing that the tide never stops. It is steadfast, constant, always coming in and going back out. Coming in to tickle our toes and then drawing our gaze back out with it to the immensity of the deep beyond the horizon.
One of my favorite authors, Charles Spurgeon said, “I have learned to kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages.”
There are definitely seasons where we feel more pounded than caressed by waves and its in those times where the steadfast ebbing and flowing of the tide should remind us of the Lord’s steadfast love for us. There are are seasons, times of day even, where we feel His love lapping closer to us, and times where we feel like He’s pulling away or withholding, but it’s in the normal rhythms of the ocean we can find peace in knowing He is constant. The fullness and capacity of the ocean never changes with the tide, only our perspective from the shoreline.
In this season, where I’m feeling pounded by waves, I’m praying I’m thrown up against the Rock. I’m praying for faith to look up and see that He is indeed the Rock of Ages, whose steadfast love extends to the heavens, his faithfulness to the clouds. Whose righteousness is like the mighty mountains, his justice like the ocean deep.
And, Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight…
Even so, it is well with my soul.