There is no distance I cannot travel with your waves beneath my feet.
Your spirit carries me across the mountains, prairies, and the seas.
I stand upon the ocean, and I stare into it’s depths.
I see the whale you have created majestic and immense.
You are the very notes upon these waters.
Jesus, you are the sound.
The rhythm of your water laps continually upon this ground.
I hear you.
I hear you.
As time passes through me, I learn to hear you more.
I am unsure of when I wrote this. I tend to write on scraps of paper, and sometimes on other odd things that I can find around me like coasters. I do not usually fill a notebook from front to back. This little piece was on a scrap piece of paper. The inspiration to write it was born out of one of my life adventures that took me on a road trip down the West Coast of the United States. More specifically I took a drive down Highway 101. Reader, I highly recommend this drive.
On one occasion I pulled off onto a roadside turn out that was bordered by a grey rock fence. The view was majestic. When I looked out all I could see was water. It stretched itself outward until it looked as though it was welded to the sky. The waters glistened as the sun danced upon it like pure diamonds under a spotlight. Then it happened. Suddenly, a large whale thrust itself outwards towards the sky. A powerful arching body curved itself upward, and then swiftly back down into the water.
It was gone.
In the blink of an eye it flashed past my vision, staying only long enough to imprint God’s goodness/creativity upon my heart. I know that I could spend all of my life standing in this same spot and never see the exact same sight. My soul knows that this was a remarkable display of His love for me/the world. He allowed me to see it knowing full well that it would cause me to wonder at His creation. It was beautiful. It had meaning. God, thank you.
John 1:3, Psalms 95:3-5.