In [the heavens, God] has set a tent for the sun, which comes forth like a bridegroom leaving his chamber. . , . . . runs its course with joy. . . [T]here is nothing hidden from its heat. —Psalm 19: 4b-6 On my way to the North Carolina coast this week, I attended my nephew’s wedding. He exemplified the happy bridegroom, his face full with warmth and longing, his course set straight for his beloved bride. Yes, this is the sun: Its joy reminds us of who we are—divine sparks of creative love. When we allow its light to shine within us, we reveal something of God. At the beach, however, I am less aware of joy and more of heat. Nothing is hidden from it! The beach’s heat makes its raid in three dimensions, aided by white-hot reflections off the ocean, the pale sand serving as a sink for solar gain. This heat is primordial. Scary, a forecast of our possible future. I tend to stay tucked away in the shade, mourning the appearance on my forearms of even more freckles. The sun will do that to you. I’m as vulnerable as anyone. Truth is, we are all mortally vulnerable. At the continent’s edge, it is easy to sense, enveloped in the same elements which God structured to form and sustain the universe—sun-fire and lightning, ocean waters, and wind. How small we humans actually are! Wave after wave after wave crashes the call to attention, each its own peal of thunder announcing God’s message to whoever’s listening. I admit that, under such circumstances, I can’t hear much. I’m likely to be back at the hotel hiding under a pillow. For those who hear waves and fall deeply into a comforted sleep, take care to listen for the “still, small voice” before drifting off. The Almighty is saying something; we all have ears. The fact is that ocean, sun, whipping wind, and sand are perfect for breeding “fear of the Lord” in a person, renewing awe and respect for God’s power. I feel mine as anxiety, with an elevated heartrate and the unlikely beachside impulse to duck and cover. Heat waves and undertow, sand cast everywhere by wind which steals frisbees and hats—I can’t feel neutral about them. I feel cowed, overstimulated, quite sure God is calling me to awaken in a more daunting way than usual. And the beach IS daunting. The ineffable enormity of the ocean proves that. My annual coastal encounters with air, water, light, and earth, help shape me into a God-fearing woman—vulnerable as any creature and undeniably small. At the beach, I rediscover the reality of my true size: I am both greater and less than I imagine, on fire with the divine yet imperfect and tiny as a grain of sand. A weekend of thundering surf brings me back to scale, puts God back in the heavens breathing light into being over a horizon which looks like the end of the world. Here is eternity, where the sun longs to see me and God sets the sky for the wedding—beautiful, dramatic, stressful, life-changing. Overwhelming. Overarching. Over me. Over all. Karen Jessee If you would like to contribute to the reflection and share with other readers, please press on the word "comments" below. Thank you!
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