Today, I’ve escaped to my happy place. Cloaked in the humid salty air, I sit at the edge of the earth, where land cascades into the highest tide in the world. Waves lap at my toes, and seagulls croon in the foggy distance.
I’ve come to rest, write, and reflect on God’s goodness (for he is good and does good, but oftentimes, I forget that and worry and fear and fret instead). There’s something about the sea that provides the perfect refuge for this solitary work.
My words are few, and my prayers are many. I leave you with two poems—prayers, really—penned by Amy Carmichael, a missionary to children in India in the early 1900s. May you be blessed as you quietly reflect upon these prayers—wherever you may be today.
Thou art the Lord who slept upon the pillow,
Thou art the Lord who soothed the furious sea,
What matter beating wind and tossing billow
If only we art in the boat with Thee?
Hold us in quiet through the age-long minute
While Thou art silent, and the wind is shrill;
Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, art in it?
Can the heart faint that waiteth on Thy will?
Lord Jesus, Intercessor,
Oh, teach us how to pray;
Not wave-like, rising, falling,
In fitful clouds of spray.
The mighty tides of ocean
A deeper secret know,
Their currents undefeated move
Whatever winds may blow.
Lord Jesus, Intercessor,
Creator of the sea,
Teach us the tides’ great secret
Of quiet urgency.
Spindrift of words we ask not,
But, Lord, we seek to know
The conquering patience of the tides
Whatever winds may blow.
The Light for My Path 