Small Point, Maine
Jesus, I’ve followed you to the ocean, again. Driving backroads along rivers and through forests as the sun slides down the second half of the sky, I end up at our half mile strip of sand.
This is our Sinai. This is our Moses-Mountain. This rocky coastline, this smell of low tide. These moments filtered through the sun’s softening glow as it settles down for the night, dipping into the depths of the sea.
This is our Holy Ground.
It’s been a string of weeks where nothing seems to be enough. Where I’m not enough. Where feelings of lack, of inadequacy, of scarcity, have been overwhelming. Weeks like this hang heavy, don’t they?
You’ve felt distant, but I know it’s me. My mind runs rapid with all of the things that need doing, all of the things that have been left undone. Under the weight of work and home, family and friends, fundraising and preparing, I start to feel thin – too much toast and not enough butter.
The voice of scarcity turns quickly to comparison, a trap that so easily catches. What do I know? Not as much as she does. What can I offer? Surely she can give much more. I don’t look the part, not like her. She seems to handle it all, why can’t I? If only I knew/had/gave/did/could/looked more like…
So I follow You here, and I inhale sea air. I travel the familiar paths through beach grass and over sand dunes. As I walk You tell me to take off my shoes, feel the ground beneath my feet. I sift barefoot through sand and seashells, notice my heel falling heavy into this cradle of cool, grainy earth. I bring my toes to the water’s edge, let liquid ice wash over pale feet.
In this moment I’m struck with significance.
I came here to meet You, Jesus. Meet You on our mountain, and You say, “take off your shoes.” You ask me to recognize the ground I tread as Holy. I lean in; give notice to the the water’s washing, the sun’s warmth, the calling of sea birds. And as I lean my focus shifts and You come into view, each wave laying clarity at my feet. I came here to meet You, and You are washing my feet. Washing away the scarcity, washing away the lack, washing away the lies of not enough. You replace them with Your presence, and in You I will always find fullness.
Surely this is Holy Ground, because surely You are here.
The sun is softening still. I breathe deep. Listen long as the waves crash and the fisherman’s boats hum steady in the distance. Only a handful of minutes remain until daylight folds into the horizon for the night. I climb along craggy Maine coast, disregarding each “no trespassing” sign. I find a smooth bit of stone to set myself on. I sit here, small.
Small and significant. Wholly seen and known by You, Jesus. You have washed these feet. You are restoring focus. You are refreshing this soul. No moment with You is ever wasted.
“Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you. You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.”
Jeremiah 29: 12-13
