Always The Same, New Every Morning.

Posted by on Jan 16, 2016 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts | 2 comments

Always the Same, Ever ChangingIt is ever changing, the ocean. Yet, always the same. How incongruous.

 

From my vantage point twelve stories up, I watch. This time of year there aren’t many people out there, always less than ten.

There’s the woman with her Irish setter. What a beautiful dog, even from here. They meander down the beach. A family with three teen agers stands on the edge of the water, huddled together in the cool morning air. Are they coming or going from the pancake house? They drift apart, each following his own thoughts and the element that has captured his interest until they come together again. For a picture.

 

The romantic couple walks hand in hand. They stand at the edge arms around each other and look out to sea. Are they just starting out? Are they here to rekindle their romance? Last ditch effort? No, these two don’t look like a last ditch effort. A woman races past them, her arms pumping. She is here for exercise. The elderly couple creeps along. No hurry. They have been here before. So many memories.

 

All day long I sit and watch the parade. Ever changing, yet always the same. Like the ocean.

 

Up the beach is a canyon of sorts. The storm drain at the next resort over has worn a path to the ocean. I first noticed it when the beach patrol pickup cruised right down to the water’s edge to avoid the crater. A river through the beach. That’s strange.

 

The sunrise this morning happened behind clouds so the show was delayed. An hour later the sun slithered its way out from behind the thinner clouds and a stream of light shot up through the clouds and down across the water where the beam of light made its own path, this time across the water and onto the beach. The cloud colors—not to be outdone—reflected off the water in the sand. The iridescence of the shallow water reminded me of the conch shell my daddy retrieved from the ocean in California. He came out drenched from head to toe, his hand triumphantly holding the shell overhead. That shell sat in our home and I could hear the ocean when I held it to my ear. Or was that shell really the one he rescued? Memories, real or how we remember them. I’ll have to ask today.

 

As the sun and water put on a spectacle, the birds get into the act. A line of black birds glides along the surf, barely skimming the top of the water. A perfect formation . . . almost. One, at the tail end can’t quite keep in line. He can’t fly straight. Must have missed his morning coffee. Either that or he’s a free spirit.

 

The sound of the waves breaking, always going in and out. Always the same. But, ever a different view. They remind me of God. Never changing. Always the same. But, no matter the need, no matter which beach walker we are, He is what we need. He is not limited by anything. And the more I study His Word, the more “new” I find. Always there. Always the same. Yet, new every morning.

 

“Great Is Thy Faithfulness. . . Morning by morning new mercies I see.”

2 Comments

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  1. Judy Taylor

    Miriam,

    I love the ocean. Watching, observing, pondering are my favorite activities. There has always been something wonderfully relaxing at the ocean. Guess part if it is the wonderful childhood memories. Over the past five or six years I have made many new memories with my friends as they joined me at a timeshare my mother-in-law gifted to me each year.

    Thank you for prompting me to recall those memories. Praying you return home refreshed, renewed, and ready to submit a new work for publication.

    • admin

      It is at the ocean that I sense God’s immutability and eternality the most. The water just keeps coming in and going out, over and over. But, only so far, an no more. Comforting truths.