Sea Stories

 

 

Obsessed, I comb the beach for shells; my gaze travels upwards towards the skies, cloudy or brilliant blue; I marvel at the vastness the ocean holds, my eyes, my thoughts are mesmerized by the waves that rise cresting, curling, crashing at its apex, spewing bright white foam, stopping me in my tracks.

Eventually I return my focus to the hunt. My prize is not the most perfect, the uniformly shaped, the intricate color patterns-no. My eyes seek out the worn, old, marred, misshapen, broken shells. They tell stories richer, rarer, reminiscent of salty sea tales fishermen dare to share as truth.

An occasional gull quill will find its way into my bucket; keeping me aware that those below the ocean and those that fly above have interconnected relationships; left stranded there, the single quill leaves its own story to be told.

Sand wet from the tidal movements clings to my skin, my hair, my fingers. It, too, cries out its story whether or not I want to listen; I have become a captured audience.

Why do I bother to collect any of these? Shouldn’t I leave them lie? Who am I to claim that which is not mine? Is the attraction the hunt or the hunted? I do not know.

I hope it is in appreciation of You, Dear Lord, the Master Designer. Knowing in comparison to the vastness of ocean, sky, and sand, I realize my insignificance. I am awed by that which is in reality, only a small part of Your Creation. I am humbled that You, would want to share individual moments with me. I become stilled, quieted, calmed, ready for Your still small voice to reign supreme over the crashing waves, buffeting breeze, and high-pitched screams of the gulls overhead.

Thank You, Dear Lord, for preparing a place, a natural cathedral, where You and I can be together; us two, me and You, enjoying that which absorbs my worldly distractions and focuses my attention on Your Omnipresence, Omnipotence, and Omniscience. You are ever with me; You are all-powerful; You are all-knowing; and yet … You are my Lord, my Heavenly Father, my friend. Amen

 

 

Proverbs 30:4-5  International Children’s Bible
Who has gone up to heaven and come back down?
Who can hold the wind in his hand?
Who can gather up the waters in his coat?
Who has decided where the ends of the earth will be?
What is his name? And what is his son’s name?
Surely, you know!
Every word of God can be trusted.
He protects those who come to him for safety.

 

 

Father, Whose Creating Hand

Words: Thomas B. Pollock  1889

Music: Litany for Those at Sea, Part 1 Charles E. Stephens 1821-1891

 

Father, whose creating hand
Made the ocean and the land;
All Thy creatures are Thy care,
Thou art present everywhere.
Hear us, we beseech Thee.

 

Christ, who didst of old appear
On the waters, drawing near;
Thou art able still to save,
Calmly ruling wind and wave.
Hear us, we beseech Thee.

 

Holy Ghost, whose presence shed
Life where all was dark and dead,
By Thy breath we move and live,
Thou dost light and order give.
Hear us, we beseech Thee.

 

God, to whom our life we owe,
God, whose blood for man did flow,
God, who dost within us dwell,
Keep us Thine, and all is well.
Hear us, we beseech Thee.

 

When the deep in slumber lies
Under bright and peaceful skies,
When the winds in fury rave,
Lifting high the rushing wave,
Hear us, we beseech Thee.

 

All our honest labor bless,
Give each lawful aim success;
In our time of need draw nigh,
Saying, Fear not, it is I.
Hear us, we beseech Thee.

 

Guard the loves ones left behind,
Give them peace in heart and mind;
Keep us all in union sweet,
At our Father’s mercy seat.
Hear us, we beseech Thee.

 

 

Every time I stand before a beautiful beach, its waves seem to whisper to me: If you choose the simple things and find joy in nature’s simple treasures, life and living need not be so hard. Psyche Roxas-Mendoza

 

The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace. Kate Chopin

 

 

 

 

Quill

a large stiff feather of a bird’s wing or tail : the hollow tubelike part of a feather : a hollow sharp spine of a porcupine or hedgehog : a pen made from a feather

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