Yesterday, I floated in the vast sea of God’s presence.
No land in sight.
The swells rose and fell.
The waves whispered.
Words failed. Prayers dissolved.
The hush of the room settled over me, gentle and expectant.
I was small. I was still.
The crystal voices, simply instruments of praise, led through the quiet like light across the water.
When we sang together, our voices rose in unison, and I sensed God lifting me farther than any single sound could.
It freed me from the boundaries of the normal order of service, at least in that moment, and I breathed deeper into the vastness.
The sermon on patience, delivered with quiet love and steady care, rolled over me like a slow tide—teaching me to linger, to wait, to breathe in the quiet between swells, as God used the words to speak to my heart.
Maybe that’s the point. To bow in prayer even when I don’t know if I’m saying it right. To let the mystery stay mystery.
But the mystery has a center.
The ocean has a depth.
It is not empty.
It is the presence of the living God, calling across the waters.
Closer than the air I breathe.
Closer than the waves rolling through the vast sea of His presence.
Infinite and intimate.
Boundless as the sea, yet personal enough to forgive, to hold, to save me.
That is where I rested.
Even in that expanse, the gentle whisper of God carried through.
Like Elijah listening after the wind, the earthquake, the fire (1 Kings 19), the whisper found me in the middle of the swells.
It rolled over me, under me, through me.
The patience of soft-spoken words preached the Word, steady as the tide, used by God to teach me that being carried doesn’t mean being in control, that awe and intimacy can coexist, that the waves themselves can teach patience, wonder, surrender.
Each swell, each whisper, pulled me farther out, yet somehow held me steady.
I floated, drifting in the rhythm of worship, in the ebb and flow of presence, in the lift and fall of prayer and song.
And in that motion, I sensed God’s infinity and His closeness in one breath.
“As deep calls to deep” (Psalm 42:7).
The deep is His, and He calls us into it.
And in the same breath, He draws close in Jesus Christ, whose work on the cross is what saves.
Vast ocean.
Quiet whisper.
One Savior.
That’s it for now. Thanks for showing up. It matters.
Photo by Ahmed Nishaath on Unsplash
Veni, Vidi, Scripsi 