Waves crash hard against
you, but stand up; see how, too,
they have washed you clean.
I have learned to kiss the waves that throw me against the Rock of Ages.
Sometimes bravery comes in the form of waking up and getting out of bed in the morning. And that’s okay. But I can’t let that be the only brave thing I do every day for the rest of my life. I yearn for days where my bravery takes me somewhere new, muscles and mind left sore from the stretching and burning of hard work and willpower.
I am stuck somewhere between dreams and doubt, and it’s an abrasive, gravelly place to live. Days are scratchy. Unformed, like sand on the shore.
But grace is the ocean. There is grace (abounding); there is truth (alarming); there is time (allowing).
Grace is the ocean, and truth and time, too–oceans with ebbing waves are soothing and supple, carrying with them beautiful, unbroken things like refracted sunlight and seashells that echo sounds into eternity and back. And sometimes the same ocean, or another, will have waves that crash and clamor their way toward shore, languid but loud in their demand for space and sediment, and the tides like grasping thin fingers tear you beneath the surface of the water, leaving you gasping and graceless, washing away the very ground to stand on.
But you stand up because you know staying down will do you no better than it did the sand that is being washed away. You stand up to see that the very waves that crashed into you also washed you clean, and the dry scratching of the sand is to no effect when you’re submerged and swimming in the ocean.
And you begin to see why one might kiss the waves that hurl you to where you are, as you feel your muscles and mind ache with the hard work and willpower you yearned for just before you were washed from the shore.