Peace

The beach is empty in the chill morning air. Only the bravest, bundled in jackets and scarves, take their dogs on long walks beside the lapping water. Snowbirds gather here this time of year. The bright sun breaks through the wind and warms my soul if not my feet.

I love the beach in winter. I can hear the waves and look out to sea, mesmerized by the rhythmic sound. In the summer, I would feel the pull of swimsuits and sunscreen and sandcastles, dragging my uncooperative beach chairs to the sand and staking out my spot. But this morning, I sit in my flannel nightgown and cradle my coffee as I soak up God’s beauty through large windows.

O Lord, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. Yonder is the sea, great and wide, creeping things innumerable are there, living things both small and great. Psalm 104:24-25.

This is what I want to bring back with me from my beach trip. Not a perfect shell or fresh caught shrimp. Not even the taste of a harvested-that-day oyster from the newly opened Apalachicola Bay. I want to bring back this peace, this assurance that God is good, that His creation is good, even the parts I don’t like or understand. I want to carry home my separation from the tv and the clock, from talking heads and fear mongers.

Already as the sun climbs higher in the sky, the sounds of hammering and buzz saws from the house being built nearby drown out the sound of the waves. My very short to-do list pulls me from the view of the horizon to more mundane sights. Perhaps that is the way with peaceful communion. We can’t stay in it to the exclusion of the world around us. But we are called to return to it as often as we can.

In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. Mark 1:35.

Perhaps I can take a little of this trip home with me. Perhaps, I don’t need a trip to the beach to sense the closeness of God. I know I sense Him in my garden when I smell the fresh turned dirt or taste a crisp sugar snap. I know I sense his presence in waterfalls on the lake, in the call of the mourning doves, and the rustle of the wind in the trees. God is, after all, everywhere at all times and with us to the end of the age. I don’t need to go to Him. He is already here with me, with you.

The point, then, is to take the time to sit quietly in His presence. To quiet our fears and our constant churning, to turn off our phones and watches so that we can soak up the presence of God.

Can I be still for ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? At the beach, I can sit and watch the waves for an hour. On the lake, I can soak up the sunshine for an hour. In the garden, I can tend to my plants and enjoy their growth. In the woods, I can take deep breaths and admire the beauty of trees. I can immerse myself in His Word, or in music that elevates my spirit. There are so many ways to reconnect with God, to bolster the Holy Spirit within me, to give Him time to grow and bear fruit in my life.

The fruit of peace. Like the peace of watching the sun sparkle on the water, of hearing the waves lap against the shore, of hearing the birds all to each other, of watching a plant grow.

O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth! Psalm 8:1.

Love in Christ, Betsy