Ah the sea, the sea.

It’s definitely in the blood – my grandfather grew up beside it, my mum wouldn’t go away anywhere without it, and my siblings are the same.  When I’m at my lowest or grumpiest point, my husband often takes us all to the coast.  There, I let the view wash over me, smashing down my anger, calming my worry, reminding me of a world much bigger than my little troubles, and a Power much greater.

Years ago on the cliffs above Marble Hill in Donegal, my cousin and I used to stand and sing songs that stirred our teenage souls.  There was something that resonated there.  During my year in Nice, I often walked down to the sea, hoping for a feeling of connectedness to the people on the other side.  When I was in Scotland, I used to look over to the mountains, and the rolling hills, and wish I could see more blue beyond them.

The sea was, is, home to me.  There have been a couple of times when it has terrified me too, as it got too close, but I have never stopped coming back.  When it is flat and calm, I look out to the horizon and feel deep peace whispering over to me.  When the waves are crashing, there is such exhiliration there that I know I can find courage when I need it, that I am capable of it.

Of course, it isn’t really the sea that works these changes in my heart – it is something greater still.  It is the Creator and Calmer of the waves that reaches the deepest part of me.

The sea is no match for Him.

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