where the water.

The boat re-entered the canal, sails wide and shifting in the breeze. My eyes constructed what it must have felt like on a lake such as this, the adrenaline rush as the wave water kissed the floor and splashed to meet the knees of the ones inside. It was the construction of a time and a place, nothing more than that. I could have called out to the people inside, asked if they had taken on water during their journey, but I did not. I sat quietly in the sand, my knees tucked close to my chest.

I was empty in the best kind of way. 

The days that steal what’s inside of us are the nights that replenish what was lost in the heat.

I thought it was the evening, but it was mid-afternoon. I thought the sun would be setting soon, but it would not.

And I knew in that moment something had to change, because what I knew and what I did not know were the same.

I was not asking questions. I was not playing games with the electrical synapses in my brain. I was quiet. Everything was quiet.

Kids ran past me, blowing bubbles and tripping over the flop of their sandals for one last weekend.

Lovers held hands on the sidewalk, holding their phones up to snap pictures of the boats entering the lake. 

I wrote their stories in my mind at the lack of being able to write my own.

With the shifts this year, I know I’ve changed. Graduation, Thailand, Indiana.  Waking up in my own apartment, business casual every day, finding time for the things that mean something. I’ve watched as letting go has been the catalyst for so much more: falling into forgiveness, loving freely, and swimming in oceans of grace.

Realizing over and over again that my worth through people, places, things- and even myself- is never enough.

I don’t want to be that ship that I saw in the beginning.

I don’t want to be comfortable, staying in small places only to run the same tracks over and over. I don’t want to visit the big places and stay for just a while.

I’m ditching the patterns and releasing the grace before me to step forward in the confidence of knowing that having faith as I walk through life is home- that adventure and home are one in the same. 

There are parts of me waiting in the water to be found. I neither know what they look like nor from where they will come. But they are there, they have to be, because I’ve seen them wash up on the shore.

And as it turns to night, I begin to wonder if what I’ll find is already somewhere inside of me, hibernating until it’s time to awaken.

Strength, maybe; more confidence. A power to heal. More humor, greater ability to stay calm.

Maybe it’s something I’ll ask for, maybe it’s something I’ll receive.

Or maybe, on the hardest days, I’ll look up and see the stars and know that still I  am living in the bigger space, even when I battle to believe it. On the easy days, I’ll rest in the reality of dreams.

This sweet emptiness leaves much space for addition. I’ve made the space, and now I wait to refill- to refill with all the good things, and drown the bad in the sea.

“And compassion is on its way to us. You’ll stamp out our wrongdoing. You’ll sink our sins to the bottom of the ocean.”

[Micah 7:19, The Message]

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