Chaos Meets Order

I love the beach.

It just draws me.

It lures me into something of a sense of solitude.

Now this is not always the case, because there are times that the roar of the waves are punctuated with squeals and giggles and the happy sound of feet slapping against the wet sand.

I like that, too.

Today, I didn't make it in time for the sunrise but did manage an early morning walk and I thought about the sea.

You know, it's just the coastline that has that "pulling" effect on me; I do not have the Robert Louis Stephenson type of desire to "go down to the sea in ships". I tried deep sea fishing ... once.

It was HOT.

About the only place to go to escape the punishing sun was down below - where it was HOT ... and there was no air.

And it smelled bad and there were fish "leavings" everywhere.

and it was HOT.

But the place where the land meets the sea - that's the place I want to be! (Hey - I think I may be onto something - that line would make a great Chamber of Commerce jingle... maybe I'll get a chance to pitch it before I leave and earn enough to pay for this vacation)

So what do I love about the sea?

I am drawn by the uncontrolled nature of the crashing waves. There is a sense of danger there - the ocean is untamed. There is violence and then there is the softness of foamy tide. I love the contrast amid the constant breezy roar.

I am fascinated with the big-ness of it all.

As I age, I am able to exercise a little more self-discipline against my urge to plunge into the water at every opportunity. I still remember Ab displaying that inherited trait when, at the age of three - she made a beeline for the water immediately upon our arrival at a Fort Morgan (AL) beach house. My Mom, who was with us on that trip, was accompanying her as Ab peeled down to her skivvies, leaving a trail of clothing from where we parked to the beach. By the time I arrived, she was lying down in the surf.

I remember one of our vacations when I was a child (most of which seemed to be spent in the car), Dad finally stopped long enough to let me go "see" the beach before we continued to our destination (okay there really weren't many predetermined destinations on our family vacations but we were heading somewhere); by the time they were finally able to corral me back into the car I had shed my shoes and socks and rolled up my jeans. I remember Dad being a little upset that I tracked sand into the car. There was something very compelling about plunging into that water!

I realized today that the irony of the sea coast is that it combines such chaos with a distinctive sense of order; in that sense it serves as a reminder of the BIG Creator we serve.

I think I am sometimes uncomfortable with the BIG-ness of God and the fact that He will not be controlled. But that attribute also draws me to Him.

R. and I view the same waves from two very different perspectives (it's okay - the disconsonance in our relationship adds the flavor). I see the same diversity of perspectives in our two children.

When in the water, R. and Ab both seem to stiffen against beating of the waves; they tend to fight.
AA and I, on the other hand, tend to allow the waves to carry us, enjoying the ride and the adventure of the unknown. If we go under or get tossed around - well that's part of the ride!

On the other hand, when God tosses me around a little - I tend to "stiffen" against the circumstance that push me around. There is a place in Him, in which we find the freedom to allow Him to "carry" us.

Then there's the sand - the product of centuries upon centuries of pounding waves. On some portions of the Gulf Coast in the Southern U.S. these sands are white and beautiful.

But sand isn't very dependable. If you ever attended Sunday School, you know that it does not serve as a good foundation on which to build ("the foolish man's house went SPLATT!").

This week, I have watched as numerous times, Ab or AA would write something or build something in the sand only to have it washed away with one sweep of the tide.

But there is also something compelling and something we can learn from the sand on the shore: because it is so pliable - it is renewed each day. The great castles we built yesterday, the holes we excavated, and even the cracker crumbs we left behind are all gone the next morning.

In that sense, if I can continue to allow myself to be "pliable" - changeable or teachable - God can renew me... refresh me daily. It may mean that some of my own "castles" will be wiped out - but with them will go some of those deep scars as well.

Finally, there is the marvelous sense of order that surrounds the beach. I thought of this as I watched the odd little sand crabs this morning as they busily went about their work of "cleaning" the beach of decaying fish and debris.

On Monday, Ab and I noticed something shiny float out in the distance. Some time later, we viewed a great bird soaring nearby, as he banked overhead I saw that he wasn't a gull or even a pelican ... he was more like a hawk. Then we watched as he set a determined course toward that shiny thing we had seen earlier. He swooped down and scooped it up in his talons. He made a long trek down shore from us, banked and returned swooping over our heads carrying what appeared to be a 3 to 5 pound fish.

God set all these things in place. And there is an order to them - they provide evidence of a grand design.

Chaos and order. . . an illustration of God, Himself.

I think my favorite line from Lewis' "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" is when we are remained that Aslan is not a "tame" lion... but He is good.