Wide sky, blue in color. Endless rolling of waves. Laughter. The dampness of sand, porous and thirsty. Sun hot, but not too much.
I am at peace on this vacation, my family offering me endless reasons to praise God for beauty, rest and the comfort of people who know you and love you. I decide I will pursue “constant communion” with God, something I heard a pastor preach about on Ash Wednesday. It sounds hard to do this—what is it, really—but here by the sea, I get a taste. And then I decide the taste is not enough and I am praying, praying and praying.
Beside the ocean, on walks by myself and in preparing flounder, I pray. I chat and laugh but I also pray for so many things. They are the things of life, which is to say they are ridiculous and ordinary: the lessening of my pride; prayers for a colleague who has lost too many family members this month; travel safety; kindergarten admissions; supernatural healing for my father; a newish car; orphan adoption; a dear friend’s husband who looks for work; my husband’s career; my career.
Away from the pressures of daily life, I can strive for this constant communion. It’s a conversation most of all. I am seeking simple sharing, not really direction and guidance, although I pray for that, too. After a few days of this, I realize it’s the constant communion that has become the delicate hum of my minutes and hours. It’s a peaceful and joy-soaked place to be: walking as though hand in hand on the beach with my Savior.
The Bible is full of examples of people doing this. I like Psalm 119:32 for its simplicity: “I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free.” (NIV). On this trip and in the hours and minutes that bring us back to Denver, I am free. A sweet freedom that is hard to explain to those who don’t know Jesus and delightful to acknowledge in those who do.
Of course the challenge now is to remain in that constant communion place, even though the monthly budget is calling; one child is coughing a little too much for my comfort; and my workplace role resumes with fervor. It might be a good time to tell the Lord that I don’t want our seaside walks to end. Rather, I want them for all my life, for all time.