Washed Away

I consider it chemotherapy for my prideful, sinful nature.

All it takes is a few moments standing at the edge of the ocean for me to be reminded swiftly and surely of my utter insignificance but for the love of God.

I got a hefty dose this week during a trip to Portland. We’d migrated to the coast mid-morning and were frustrated at the onslaught of rain, which relegated us to indoor activities instead of beach-combing and tidepool-sleuthing. My kids were quickly disinterested in the options available to us.  I was quickly ‘disinterested’ in their attitudes. As the day progressed, our patience for one another eroded. Eventually, as darkness approached with rain-unabated, we pulled on rain boots, donned hats, gloves and coats, and extended umbrellas. Out we went to savor whatever we could of this precious time at the edge.  

Drops of rain both punctuated and interrupted my thoughts with unceasing patters. Waves saturated pant cuffs and pulled the sand from underneath my feet. It was for this I came.  For this I always come. For me, there is no greater depiction of the truth that God is God and I am not.

Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand,
or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens?
Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket,
or weighed the mountains on the scales
and the hills in a balance?
— Isaiah 40:12 NIV

Inhaling salt-laden air. Breathing the physical manifestation of God’s power. Exhaling myself that I might take more of Him in. I began to feel renewed.

My gaze shifted to my children and husband all engaging with the ocean in their own ways. Daring it to come higher, harder and faster… galloping away from it in mirthful evasion… staring into it from safe distance… gently searching the ground between its rolls for treasure. I smiled at the differences.

I was poignantly aware that the frustrations I’d had with them over the course of our thwarted day had been washed away. Put to sea, if you will. Our venue had changed, and their attitudes with it, but I marveled at the difference in me not them. As I had drawn closer to God through His creation and my own confession, I now saw my family through different lenses. I saw them each as His child, and was delighted by who He has made them.

As I am near to God, so I will be able to see His children – all of them, not just mine – through His eyes.  When I find myself irked with others, I hope I might reflect back on our rainy day on the coast, to use that memory to bring myself to a place of personal humility and confession.

And then, may my frustration be washed away so I can see God’s child through His eyes.