All Your waves and breakers

Deep calls to deep
in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
have swept over me.

By day the LORD directs his love,
at night his song is with me—
a prayer to the God of my life.
Psalm 42: 7-8

I went to a half-day women's retreat on Saturday, at a lighthouse/youth hostel on the coast near here. It was good... If you could hear my voice, you would hear the hesitation in it. Not about the retreat - it was wonderfully designed, full of time for contemplation and worship - but about my experience. I still have the memories of when attending an 'event' like this would consistently bring an experience of intensity - of joy, of wonder, of worship, of connection. Now, I experience mostly a sense of quietness mixed with small doses of both hope and resignation, and tinged with a thread of disappointment. Gone are the days of loosing myself in singing or of prayer that seemed lift me right out of my body.

So, yes - it was a good time. I spent some lovely time in quiet contemplation, I enjoyed talking with the women I talked to, I had a great time on the drive over and back with a friend. Yet still, there is a tinge of sadness, a sense of something missing...

During our quiet time of contemplation, as I sat in various places near the cliffs and looked out over the very foggy waves, I wrote this:

God -
are you the ocean?
Deep and wide, full
of life and strength
beyond my comprehension?

There is a fog that restricts my view.

I hear the thundering of your voice,
but no words are articulated.
Relentlessly, you cry the pounding echoes
of wisdom deeper than time,

But still I hear no words.

I long to see your vastness
to know how your presence extends
beyond the horizon, farther than I
will ever comprehend.

But I see only a few feet in front of me.

I want to feel your presence
like the mist from the waves
that settles so gently
on my cheeks and neck.

But all I feel is the ache in my back,
and the tiredness in my heart
as I perch here on the cliffs;
And a teeny, teeny sliver of hope.

God -
do I believe you are the ocean?

I don't know.

But just as the ocean,
with it's mystery and power
continues to draw me,
so I am drawn to You.

---------

One of the things the retreat organizers did was to bring a big basket of shells for us to pick from, something physical and tangible to hold and keep to remind us of our time there. As the basket finally came to me at the back of the room, I picked up one really big, gorgeous shell - trying to move it out of the way to look at the rest of the shells in the basket. My friend holding the basked said "Go ahead, take it!", and I realized that I could keep that big, beautiful shell - and I did. It is bigger than the palm of my hand, and I can wrap my hands around it - it has perfect grooves and bumps for my fingers to fit in.

I realized during the last worship time before the retreat ended, that I could also "hear the ocean" in this shell. I am going to keep it beside my bed, something to pick up and hold and listen too when I am feeling lost. Maybe I need to acknowledge and remember that it is a time in my life where I am hearing God differently than during the years of spiritual ecstasy and highs. Maybe the distant sound of his voice in the echo of the waves is enough.