We went to the ocean after a few days in Durham visiting the places that we will soon call home.
The ocean speaks tangible constancy. The waves sometimes pound and other times gently ripple against the shoreline and the tide rises and falls all because it delights their Maker. I have come to love simply sitting and watching this constant rhythm: if a God sustains the ocean, will he not do the same for us?
We are moving again, this time to Durham, North Carolina so that Travis can pursue an M.Div at Duke Divinity School. We could not be more excited about this new adventure, but with the delights of moving to a new city come so many details and logistics over which we have little to no control. So much of this move is waiting: for a job, for housing details to fall into place, for the summer to arrive. We still feel like little kids who are slowly discovering the realities of adulthood. Durham holds so much excitement and hope for the next three years, making those unsolved details more tangible because we badly want to be there.
Sitting in the Durham sunshine, the sparrows hopping around our table reminded us again:
Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?
And now those words are accompanied by the sounds of the ocean outside of our window. I am thankful God does not just give us words. Certainly they are a comfort and I am sure they ought to be all I need in order to believe Him, but often my humanity needs more than words. I need something tangible, something physical. So I sit on the porch and watch the waves, hearing them speak constancy and care.
He holds the rising and falling of the oceans, and so too will He hold your own life.