“I can’t take my eyes off them,” I said, staring at the sea. The roar echoed off the nearby mountains, reverberated off the hotel walls, reached a crescendo, and then began again.

She followed my gaze, watched the crashing waves, and we stood still, silent, frozen, and amazed.

I’m no stranger to waves – literal or metaphorical. I spent the first 18 years of my life in Florida, and every summer we return to the same stretch of sand for our annual family reunion. Last year, in less than two minutes, the sky changed from baby blue to a deep gray as rain fell in sheets. The waves that gently splashed began to slam the shore, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I gathered beach chairs and turned to dash inside, only to walk straight into a wall of wind. Inch by literal inch, my cousins and I shuffled toward shelter, soaked through and shocked by the strength of the sudden storm.

After drying off inside, I stood on the balcony of the rented condo and noticed the small speck of a bird riding out the crashing waves. As if we switched places, I watched the bird from above and I told the One who walks on water, “That’s me right there and I’m exhausted.”

It was a tsunami of a year, and honestly, all these months later, the waves continue to rage.

Yet there I stood, on a different balcony on the opposite side of the country, another coastline before me and a friend beside me, shocked into silence by majesty.

Hours later, with sand squishing between our toes, we got as close as we dared and then we simply stared. Wonder. Awe. Beauty. A healthy fear, too, of what could be… and yet, as the water soared to heights above our heads and then crashed down before reaching our feet, what grew inside me was an unexpected peace.

I turned toward Tasha and said, “All year, it’s been one difficult thing after another. Every time I thought I saw a break in the waves, the storm picked up. But there’s just something about the strength of these waves. I think… maybe… God is inviting me to look at waves through another lens. Not to minimize the terror or the trauma or the terrible-ness of it all, but to remember that even the wild waves can be beautiful, too. They might keep on coming, but He’s greater than even THIS, so I’m going to be okay.”

Her eyes danced with delight as she exclaimed “We have to take a picture of you still standing, brave, and walking toward the water!” I slipped my phone into her hand, turned to face the roar, and walked forward, my words lost to the wind:

“God, You’ve heard every desperate prayer, but here’s one more. This storm, God… You know I never saw it coming. You know I’m weary and I’m heartbroken and I’m waiting for You to do what only You can do. Like the ocean in front of me, there’s no end in sight. But You’re mightier than even this, and I know You won’t let me drown. Teach me to dance in the deep. Help me see beauty, even here, before the storm stills.”

Sometimes, it seems like the waves will get the last word.

Sometimes, it feels like we’re gulping air — doggy-paddling and desperate and just trying not to drown.

Sometimes, years go by before the winds hush and the waters calm, their roar silenced in obedience to the One who says, “Peace, be still.”

My circumstances didn’t change as I stared at the sea, and watching the majesty there at the water’s edge didn’t make my own still-raging storm suddenly look beautiful. But I was reminded of a beautiful promise from the Maker of those mighty waves:

“The sound of the water is loud; the ocean waves are powerful, but the Lord above is much greater.” Psalm 93:4 NCV

His never-ending love is mightier than the waves of the sea, more powerful than the waters that crash, stronger than the fiercest storm, and greater than anything we face.

God is good and constant and constantly working all things for good. Love does not leave when waters rise, does not abandon us to the waves, or stand by wishing us well as we sink down deep. Oh no, Love Himself stays with us in the storm and says, “I’m mightier than even this, and so is My love for you.”

Maker of the waters, we ask You to speak peace over the chaos that is raging. In the Name of Jesus, the One who walks upon the storms that threaten to overtake, we declare that we aren’t going to drown. Instead, You’re teaching us to dance upon the waters, holding us up and holding true to Your word: You are greater than anything we face. You see the other side, and You will see us through. Help us hear Your voice above the roar, Your never-failing promise behind every wave: mightier than this, and this, and yes, even this, is Your love. Amen

If it feels like the waves just keep on coming and you’d like extra encouragement as you ride out the storm, Kaitlyn’s book Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between will help you choose hope for tomorrow when today feels like a question mark.

 

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