Deep wide furious waves.

I’ve had a song in my head and a poem in my heart for a while now. Or perhaps they’re both in my head and my heart or have been making road trips back and forth.

Sarah Kay, spoken word poet, has a famous line in her piece “If I Should Have A Daughter”, and Bethel Music and Jeremy Riddle’s lyrics from the song “Furious” keep swimming in my mind.

Here’s what’s been sticking:

Sarah Kay:

Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away.

Bethel Music:

His love is deep. His love is wide, and it covers us. His love is fierce. His love is strong. It is furious. His love is sweet . His love is wild, and it’s waking hearts to life. 

Deep. Wide. Refuses to stop kissing. Strong. Furious. No matter how many times it’s sent away. Sweet. Wild. Waking hearts to life.

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The more time I spend at the ocean, the more I see God as the waves and humanity as the shoreline. There are so many metaphors in the tide. Some waves are enormous and knock over your sandcastles, and some are so gentle that they barely brush sand over your feet.

But no matter how many times the tide goes out, it’s still there, washing over some area of sand somewhere, and we know that come 5:00 or whenever the tide comes in, it will wash us again.

Sometimes the waves are cold, and even though they still wash over us in the same way they did before, cleaning and drenching us, we don’t welcome the temperature.

But sometimes you need a cold shower, to stand in your wet clothes before a vast ocean dripping and shivering. Because sometimes love isn’t comfortable. Sometimes it feels undeserved, unwelcome, or not exactly what we expected. But God’s love doesn’t give us what we want. It gives us what we desperately need.

Sometimes the water is warm, and we throw our arms in the air and run, flicking up sand as we go, to meet the tide. We dive in headfirst and stay until the tide brings us back to shore. And we tell our friends on the shoreline that they’re missing out. And we shake the water onto them and chase them around to hug them so their dry clothes get wet.

And we dry off, but the salt stays in our clothes, and our hair still smells like the sea.

And no matter how many times we run from the waves when they come into shore, whether or not we put our whole selves in or just dunk our feet, the waves always come back. Even if we don’t go to the beach and instead turn our backs to it, the tide still comes in and calls out for us to come.

Calls us to come. To dive in deep and come up wet. To come back over and over again, because the waves will still be there, faithfully washing over the sand.

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