Waves In The Storm

I love waves. Waves that lap softly on the beach, rolling over sand and pebbles. I love the sound of that coastal music. Music I can dance to, and it makes me feel alive. Gentle waves make me feel like I’m HOME. Soothing – like sitting on the warm sand of Seal Cove beach. Home ‘sweet tiny village’ home.

Even bigger, louder, crashing waves – bully waves – they speak of HOME too. Some of those bully waves, and of course gentler ones too, have rocked the ferry that takes me to my childhood island home. Huge waves thrashed a cruise ship we were ‘cruising’ on years ago – not a sweet memory – but a memory locked in my head forever now.

The sounds and smells of waves – the ocean tides, salt and sand – fill me up inside. I’m an island girl after all – salt water courses through my veins.

And then… there are waves that I don’t enjoy so much, they knock me over sometimes with their ferocity and strength.

Waves of grief. Stinging, aching waves. Ugh. Usually they hit me by surprise and can leave me breathless on the floor. Like being sucker punched. I hate that.

‘They’ say that grief comes in waves. But why – I don’t know. They also say that I shouldn’t deny the wavy grief, or push it away, but let it come. Ride it out. 

Face the grief head on – work though it. It helps process it.

Let the tears fall, and scream if I want.

Write. It. Down… Doing it.

My counsellor is a beautiful godly woman who has given me ‘tools’. Tools that look like setting healthy boundaries, reframing thoughts, and walking through the hard to talk about issues. Issues that can cause this heart to ache and bleed. Counselling isn’t a magic bandaid, but it works, even when it’s downright ugly. I know! There is hope in the healing and JOY even in the middle of the fire.

I really don’t love these waves. I long for the soothing kind, the peaceful ones, the gentler, kinder ones. Yes. Someday, I think to myself, maybe the grief waves will still. Ohhhh please Lord, let it be so.

I know you hear me. It may be your prayer too. You know what I’m going to remind myself of, and you too… the Beautiful Healer, holder of bottles of tears. He sits with me. Holds my tiny hands – the scraped and tired hands of the common island girl. He says He will never let go.

Never. Let. Go.

Isaiah 41:13 says:

For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, ‘Do not fear, I am with you.’ – Isaiah 41:13

This verse speaks hope and comfort to my bleeding battered heart.

He says that I can find shelter from the waves and the storm under His wing. A sheltered, safe, ‘no – wave zone.’

You are invited too. 

And His smile, His tender eyes, tell me that I’m going to be OK. Fine. Well.

I take His hand, slip His gentle wing around me and wait. Wait in Him – for the waves and storm to pass. 

Because you are my help I sing in the shadows of your wings. I cling to you; your right hand upholds me. – Psalm 63:7-8

Hallelujah