I’m pretty sure God meant for me to live at the beach. And I don’t. Which can be a source of a constant, quiet aggravation for me. Living in the Midwest has its charm. I love Cincinnati for the community we experience and for all it offers. But it does not offer a beach. And the Ohio River just doesn’t cut it. Especially in February.
When my toes feel the sand, the wind hits my face, and I hear the sound of the surf, everything that’s felt so big and dark and heavy falls away. And I connect almost immediately with the bigness, the vastness, and the closeness of God all at once. With one big exhale, the stress begins to drain away. All the noise of my life fades. And I begin to hear more clearly. Hear God’s voice. Hear my own heart. And in that hearing comes knowing. Knowing what’s really true and important and big. And it’s usually not what I thought.
My gracious, most amazing husband had given me the gift of four days at the beach to write. I was trying to figure out what this book was really about. Because I felt like there was something in me that wanted to be written. And because he thought so, too. (I so love him for that. And for many other reasons, too.) I knew it was something about connection. Connection with God, with our own souls, and with others. Deep connection that reveals and heals and restores. A book about connection is probably best written in connection, and my best place for connection is the beach. Life at home has a way of getting noisy. And it’s too easy for me to find distractions to avoid the terror of an empty page.
I got up at 4:15 am, napped on my 6:30 flight, drove my rental car to the grocery store, then headed to the condo. Nap. Lunch. Then, at last, the beach. Ahhhhh. I stood there, uncertain about what to do next. Should I walk? Should I just stand there? Not super productive. I really need some exercise. But I need to get back to the condo to write. So too much time at the beach wouldn’t be productive. And suddenly I realized I couldn’t even feel the sand. I was not present at all to the sand, or the wind, or the surf. I was just worried about how to make this gift useful and productive. Oh my gosh. Seriously? I can be such a dork.
So I stopped the nonsense, closed my eyes, and let my feet feel the sand. All the tiny grains pressing against my skin. Grounding me. A few deep breaths. And the decision to just stand. To abide. To be present to the glory. Wind. Warmth. Water. I could feel God’s smile against my skin. Connection. It changes everything. It moved me in an instant from doing and producing to being, simply being present to God, to myself, to beauty. Ahhh. That’s better. Clearly, I still have a lot to learn. Or unlearn.
This place of connection is the place where truth and wisdom break in. So I lifted a question. Why is connection so important to you, God? Connection with you, with ourselves, with others? The response came—every point of connection is a connection with him. God in us. God in others. God in everything he’s made. Not in a pantheistic, the tree is God, kind of way. But in a sacramental, seeing and touching the holy, kind of way.
Connection brings life. The design of every living thing speaks this truth. Broad and deep networks of roots connect to draw in and up the nutrients trees need to thrive. Long, intricate networks of vessels connect to carry life through our bodies to feed the brain and heart and lungs. Safe, life giving friends and family connect to form community to carry and sustain us through the seasons of life. Healthy connection is life. Life to our bodies, our souls, our spirits. And who and what we are connected to, what we are rooted in, makes all the difference.
Life and health are in the roots. It’s true for trees. It’s true for us. So, today, right now, stop. Breathe. And let the words of this prayer root you again in the love of God.
I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.