The thunder of great waters

I did a little musing as I sat on a railing watching the sea do its thing back in the middle of summer when there was time for sitting on railings and watching the sea.

The tide was in, and there was a strong breeze that gave the waves white tops and blew spray at me from time to time. The sun was in and out from behind fluffy clouds and there was nobody else about.

Dear God,

The sea is like you.

It is eternal. Always there, never stopping, never still. It never rests, never sleeps. Shifting, multi-faceted, unpredictable, wild and untameable. Breathtakingly beautiful in all its moods, whatever the weather. That beauty is a complex mixture of light and shade, a million colours; shimmering, sparkling.

It engages all the senses - the blue, the green, the sunlight and reflected sky, the sound of crashing, thundering - and the soft and reassuring sound of surf on shingle.

I sit with my eyes closed and feel cool spray on my face; I swam and was embraced by its silky coolness, lifted off my feet by the swell.

I taste salt on my lips and inhale the fragrance that you only find at the seaside: freshness, brine, the smell of open space and freedom. I find that I breathe more deeply at the seaside in moments like this, luxuriating in solitude; just me and the vastness of you.

There is another sense that the sea touches, for me; the thing inside me that longs for you; the thing that is more than imagination, that comes from the deepest part of me.

My soul reaches for you, because you seem more tangible to me at the seaside.

I watch the ocean and see my God.

The sea is relentless and powerful. You cannot keep it out, you cannot keep it in. It will go where it will. The sea demonstrated its power when the tidal surges engulfed our coast a few months ago; I have seen the destruction left behind. The strongest man-made structures - concrete, iron bars as thick as my wrist, bent and broken like matchsticks, and discarded with the next wave. Flooding, overcoming defences, washing away things that we cling to.

The fury of the sea in a storm; deafening and intimidating. Restless, ruthless, threatening...and yet. that same sea reflecting a cloudless blue sky, soothing and welcoming, splashing on sand and shells, gently caressing my daughters' feet as they play at its edges.

Glory and majesty - the sea reflects the sunrise and the sunset, the beginning and the end, and will still be there, churning, shifting, waiting for the next day. It was made on the second day and will be there on the last. What are we, in comparison?

"Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea, or walked in the recesses of the deep?"   Job 38:16

The sea shows us our smallness, our frailness. It allows us to interact with it in a small way; it gives up some of its treasures and allows us to form a relationship with it but it demands respect. It gives life and sustains life and can take it away in a moment. We try to harness it, to subdue it for our own ends, but it will only allow us so far. We hover at its edges, gazing awe-struck into its depths, and it is pleased to show us some of its wonders, but we are never in control.

It has hidden depths that we cannot imagine.

Underwater mountain ranges that we have never seen. We don't know how deep it is - it is unfathomable. We cannot draw maps or chart the seabed. We are too small, too weak; our most impressive technology falls short of something so primeval.

We see the surface, and the things it permits us to explore, but it leaves us in no doubt that we are quickly out of our depth. There are things impenetrable, places we can't go, experiences we'll never have, whole ecosystems that we know nothing about, creatures never seen, photographs that will never be taken.

A mystery. Pre-historic, vast, sheltering, nurturing, secretive.

We are so small. We make mistakes; whole aeroplanes are swallowed without a trace in the depths. We are reminded of our fragility, and it's power.

Endless contrasts. I held in my hand the tiniest of crabs from a rock pool, a starfish. The seas are home to countless microorganisms too small for us to see - and then huge and powerful creatures like whales and sharks, seals and fish too large to land in a fishing boat. The delicate and the vast. Floating, mystical jellyfish, shoals of translucent fish, and predators with row upon row of lethal teeth. Things that we eat, things that would eat us. All life is here, and death, too.

"There is the sea, vast and spacious, teeming with creatures beyond number, living things both large and small." Psalm 104:25

Dangerous, yet healing. The sea helps to heal wounds, sterile and soothing. Life-giving, life threatening. Hidden currents, lurking dangers play alongside soft surf and exhilarating swell. It supports us, keeping our boats afloat and our bodies buoyant.  Full of joy and fun, beauty and possibility, yet we misjudge it at our peril.

"You rule over the surging sea; when its waves mount up, you still them." Psalm 89:9

Only Jesus had authority over the sea. There has only ever been one man who was unafraid, who spoke to the waves and they obeyed him.

I sit here and lift the camera to my eye and realise that the sea cannot be captured.

No wonder that throughout history we have been fascinated by it. We have tried to copy it, to halt it, to pin it down on canvas or film, to recreate it to take away for those of us who live inland, but we cannot, for no sooner have we frozen a moment in time, than that moment is gone and the sea is completely different.

It is only now. It was, it will be, but it is always the present. No two waves are alike. They each hit the seawall differently, throw different fountains of spray. There is no pattern, no predictability. It does its own thing, regardless of time, of me, of everyone.

There is so much to see. It whispers, shouts - booms an insistent invitation to tiptoe at the edges, come a little deeper, discover something new, dive in, explore, immerse yourself.  Be brave, get used to the coolness, the movement; enjoy the ride. Know who you are, and who the sea is; don't forget. Don't take it for granted, have respect, but come and enjoy.

Be washed clean. Be lifted off your feet.

Inspiration is here. Beauty is here. Refreshment, restoration, healing, strength are to be found here.

There is no barrier that you cannot break down,
There is no space you can't flood,
No door can keep you out,
No defences you can't breach.

"Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea - the Lord on high is mighty." Psalm 93:4

You are here.

The Frame

My Dad was a photographer. Everywhere he went he took at least one camera and all family events are documented with pictures. He loved photography and commemorating our lives with careful images was a joy to him. 

He taught me to take photographs too. Photography appeals to my sentimental side; I'd rather have an occasion fixed and permanent. Memories can be so slippery. Camera phones are a godsend as I can whip out my phone and snap anything with a flick of thumb on touchscreen rather than use the bulky old kit that hangs heavy round the neck with zips and buttons and lens caps to negotiate. In Dad's day there were light-meters and exposures to select and all manner of variables that we don't have to worry about now. 

Swipe, click. Plug in and print. 

We used to have to wait a week to get back the pictures and see if there were any good ones. When they came back from the developers I would short through them excitedly and then show Dad my photos and he would offer advice, either in terms of composition or technical detail.  A compliment from Dad was high praise indeed. Even today, eight years after he died, when I look at my photos I try to see them through Dad's eyes. And when I stop in my tracks on the walk to school in a morning because there's something worth photographing, and my daughter rolls her eyes at the delay, I have a little smile because I used to do just the same.

Dad taught me to frame my pictures. Don't just press the button, he'd say. Look through the viewfinder.  Take a bit of time to try things out and see what works; what improves the composition.

Landscape or portrait? To zoom or not to zoom? Find a tree to frame one side of the image, or a silhouette to bring a sunset to life. Make sure there's some colour. Don't overlook the foreground; it can add depth.

Not too much sky, try not to put the horizon right in the middle.

A change of perspective can make a dull photo into a great one.

A frame makes all the difference. 

A frame can change the nature of the picture completely. A simple sketch can be transformed by the frame that it's mounted in.  It can change the whole nature of the scene. If you only see part of a picture you can misinterpret the whole thing.

With so much in life I just snap the photo without looking for a frame. I rush to interpret things as they appear to me in the heat of the moment. I am prone to anxiety and I am not by nature an optimist, so if I'm faced with troubles, then the picture I inevitably take is one of worry and negativity. I see what I think I see; I press the shutter before I've explored if there is more to the photograph than I initially thought. I am quick to assume the worst.

I don't bother looking for a frame because I'm not planning on hanging that picture on the wall. With hindsight, I might have realised that the situation was not as bad as I thought. What I feared didn't happen; and even if it did, then something better might have come out of it. 

I see a tiny part of the picture, but you see all of it, Father God. I see a fraction of an image; a piece of a vast mosaic, and I'm quite sure that taking a series of close-ups of my muddled-up life doesn't add up to the whole thing any more than a beautiful set of snowflake images can reveal the grandeur of a mountain range. 

Help me to remember that what I see as the whole picture is just a tiny part. I work in three dimensions but you hold the whole of history in your hand. 

You knew me since before the world began and you understand my place in it completely, when I am so small that the mood I'm in when I climb out of bed can affect the way I view my life. 

I can only see the horizon - you know what there is beyond.

My whole life is framed by your love for me, Lord Jesus. It changes who I am; or it would if I let it. If I only pause for a moment as I peer through the viewfinder, I might see a better picture than the obvious one. If I move the camera to the left or right, there might be things to see that change the way I view things. If I shift from telephoto to wide angle there might be something else that I should be seeing.

When I see things through the frame of who you are - who I am - things change. Suddenly that oppressive scene is not as stark or fearsome.  There is distance, mid-ground and foreground. It's not black and white any more. There is colour and detail.  Somehow the frame transforms the picture.

I can change what I see by remembering the frame. 

So next time I look at what's happening in my life, I'm going to try and remember that when bad things seem to be threatening, I am loved by the King. When the storm clouds are gathering and things are dark, that I am precious to you and you will take care of me. When I feel lost and lonely, you have promised that you will never leave me. And when things do go wrong, you have promised that you can bring good out of anything.

Even the worst picture can be improved with a frame.

The camera never lies; but it doesn't tell the whole story. 

Linking up with Nacole at Sixinthesticks for #concrete words again.