I’ve always had a thing for water. Let me clarify: I don’t particularly like to drink it (much to
my dismay) and I’m a mediocre swimmer.
But, for some reason, bodies of water are my sweet spots.
When I was eight, there was a tiny creek that ran next to
our country house. I used to climb the
tree above it, find a spot in the branches, and read for hours. By high school, one of my favorite places to
sit was on my friend’s dock on the lake, feet over the edge and eyes straight
up at the night sky. During my freshman
year of college, I found Bowl & Pitcher on the Spokane River where
I spent many a day climbing the “pitcher” and watching the current rush under
the bridge. (If any fellow Whitworthians
are interested, I highly recommend it—bring good shoes and a journal.)
All this to say: there is something humbling about the
enormity and autonomy of water that demands stillness and contemplation—especially
when you encounter the ocean.
We recently got back from a nine day vacation with Matt’s
family on Whidbey Island, just northeast of our sprawling, urban Seattle home. You could hardly imagine that an hour drive
and a ferry ride could land you in a whole new world, but you stand to be
surprised. It wasn’t technically on the ocean, just the Puget
Sound… but it still counts.
When the tide was out, we played Frisbee on the beach and
explored the sand with our little niece and nephew.
When the tide was in (by late afternoon), most of us were
reading next to the wide windows, making “beach cookies,” or playing endless
numbers of board games.
I wasn’t only amazed that twelve people could survive for a
week in the same house with no casualties.
(Yes, we are awesome.) It was
even more surprising to almost never
see people on their smart phones or computers.
All of us had them—and I, for one, am nearly addicted to mine—but they
took a back seat. Life outside the present moment wasn’t as “urgent” as it usually seemed. Looking out on the water every hour of the
day seemed to slow all of us down.
In the end, we had a wonderful time together as a family, as
beings experiencing love and rest and
joy. I am indescribably grateful to my
mother- and father-in-law for making time like this happen. And I can only encourage everyone, if you
have the time and resources and even if
you think you don’t: take a beach
retreat. Read. Collect sea shells. Cook meals together. Put together a 1,000 piece puzzle. Draw. Take
naps. Meditate. Have arm-wrestling competitions. Visit the nearest coast town. Swim in the salt water. Eat clam chowder. And, if you have the chance, definitely drink
wine with the one you love on the rooftop while you watch the waves…
“Give
thanks to the one who shaped the earth on the water—God’s faithful love lasts
forever.” (Psalm 136:6, CEB)
