Wash me clean in the Holy Spirit sea.
It’s silly, I know, but I talk to the ocean.
The cold Oregon beaches are baptismal grounds for my oft-confused soul. I sit on these sandy shores, in front of her vastness, speak openly about my sorrows, and let her just tell me, “But I am the mighty waters.”
“Yes, yes you are,” I reply.
And I sit still, while she dances to her own rhythm, and throws her water close to my feet, retreat, and back again. I chuckle when I see kids chase the waves, and allow it to chase them back. “How prophetic,” I think.
We chase the reality of her mightiness, till we realize how finite we are, and how her mightiness can easily swallow us in a heartbeat. You’d think we, silly finite beings, would learn. But we are consumed by a larger hunger, a grander curiosity. Boundaries seduce us, and sometimes devour us.
“How do I know you are truly… real?” I ask. I chuckle because I know it’s silly. I’m pretending I can talk to the ocean! This is ridiculous.
Even with the voice of reason nudging its way through, I sit patiently, hoping for a reply.
That’s right. I have no idea if my imagination is overactive, or if I am staring at reality itself.
“Does it matter?”
I’m not sure. But I don’t question it.
I was beckoned here, to this infinite moment, to her beautiful salty spray and her soothing voice, much like Lucy was by Aslan’s sweet whisper of her name.
“You are exquisite,” I confess.
She trashes around, almost as an acknowledgment.
This ocean, in her scary vastness and hypnotizing beauty, baptizes me, time and time again. The water that once trickled down my head, now seeps through under my feet. I am made clean. Eternity unfolds as the last sun rays strikes through the orange sky.
“I am the mighty waters.”
“Yes, yes you are.”
She and I, for a split second, become one.