Meditations on a Beach Run

                I have run on streets and country roads, sidewalks and tracks, forests and corn fields and deserts, but my favorite place to run is the beach.  Disregarding the beautiful scenery, the run itself is better; the sand acts as a great cushion for the limbs, but it also works you harder.  Running barefoot through soft sand and shallow water works muscles differently than you’re used to, which is an important step to a great workout.  The slant of the beach also makes you work on your balance more.  Plus, if/when you get too hot, you can just take a quick dip in the surf and keep running.

                 A couple nights ago, I took my bike down to the mouth of the Hopkins to photograph the sunset.  I got some shots I liked, but when the sunset was over, I wasn’t ready to leave.  The air was perfect, and my legs were feeling fresh, and I knew I had at least a half an hour until it was too dark, so I hid my backpack and shoes behind a rock and took off towards the breakwater.

                As I ran, I started thinking.  I thought about how I have to do this more often.  I have the bike, I have the legs, I have the time and the continent and everything.  It’d be a shame, a waste, if I didn’t come out here to run at least weekly.

                I thought about the waves.  The sound of them was a better running mate than my iPod (at least as good as Explosions in the Sky and Olafur Arnalds).  The sound was both changing and constant, and in the waning light, they were terrifying.  The first time a wave caught my foot, I gasped.  At one point, somewhere near Granny’s Grave, the waves hit some sort of underwater rock shelf, and they plume up into the air.  I knew I was safe, but I imagined the danger of being out there in the surf.  I knew I’d be toast.  It was at that moment that I came to respect the waves.

                I thought about a verse in the Bible that says that you can learn about the qualities of God from creation; the sky, the mountains, the critters, everything.  I’ve learned about God from the cornfields and the summer sun, thistles and butterflies, all the things I’ve grown up with, but I’d never seen God in a wave.  I thought I’d like to.

                I thought of another place in the Bible where a man (Isaiah) had a vision where he saw God on his throne, in all his glory and power.  The first thing Isaiah said was “Woe is me, for I am ruined!” which basically means, “I’m toast.”

                By the time I got back to my backpack and shoes, I’d made the connection I was looking for:  I saw that in some significant ways, God is like the ocean.  God calls people to himself, like people feel the call to visit the ocean, to see something vast and powerful and beautiful and beyond themselves.  But just seeing the ocean is not enough; so we go to the beach, and we stand and wait for the first wave to break around our ankles, and right then we feel the ocean for the first time, an experience that shocks us awake, simultaneously satisfying that desire and feeding it, calling us in deeper, to the knees, to the waist.  So little water does so much in us, and then we look out at the far reaches of the horizon, and we know that there is more in this ocean than we can gather or expend, more than we could ever imagine, enough to crush us or carry us away to be lost forever.  As the wave retracts, we can feel the sand fading away beneath our feet.  I thanked God for the new perspective and climbed the rocks back up to my bike.

                Now, as I sit here typing this, I have another thought; I wonder how most people see God?  As a powerful, untamed, breath-taking ocean?  Or maybe as a mighty river?  No, I would guess people see God more as a pond; small, quiet, suitable for weekend picnics and baby playgrounds, either past its prime or man-made, but either way unimpressive and insignificant.  Let me tell you, God is not a pond.  This is the God who saved me from depression and pornography and fear and self-loathing, who loved me so much I actually came to love myself too, who made me new, the God who offers salvation, not just in the afterlife, but right now, right in the middle of whatever battle you’re fighting, and I know you’re fighting one.  He is not an old white man with a beard on a cloud.  He is merciful, but righteous, and he hates evil, hates it so much he died on the cross to beat it forever, so you can be free too.  He is the most satisfying thing you can give yourself to, and all you have to do is ask.  I want to spend the rest of my life in this ocean, and when I finally slip below the foamy surface, I’ll only sink deeper into his presence.

                As I’ve said before, I’m not trying to preach.  I’m not doing this for brownie points at church, either.  This is my heart, these are the thoughts I’ve been tossing around, this is what’s happening in my life.  Even if your worldview is totally opposite of mine, I’m sure you can appreciate my desire to express myself and to be known for who I really am.

                Thank you for reading.  Nothing makes a blogger happier than a bloggee.  Without you, this is just a journal.