I couldn’t take my eyes off of the crystal clear water. The way it glistened back at me, in some ways, I felt seen. I felt understood. The sunlight bounced off the white foamed waves and warmed my soul. It reflected pieces of me that have been burned like wood and ember. Wounded by words and weapons aiming to crush and destroy. But they haven’t.

The Mexican water seemed to understand the depth of my pain. Like it did see me, like it was saying, “me too” with each sway and crash onto the coarse rock below. The resilience of the emerald movements moved my heart in hope.

Hope doesn’t come easy or naturally. And hurting with hope still hurts. The pain doesn’t go away, but it can heal piece by piece.

Wave by wave.

Crash by crash.

One my of favorite pastors is Levi Lusko. He lost his daughter suddenly and he speaks profoundly on the reality of pain. He says,

“Just keep holding on. it won't hurt as bad as it does now. The weight won't get lighter, but you'll get stronger."

Healing hurts. 

Hope hurts. 

Choosing to be brave and hope for God to redeem, restore, forgive, love me through it all. Love me in a way that becomes a bottomless balm to my heart and soul.

The water reflected the fearless little girl in me. I forgot about her. Memories of her flashed through my mind like lightning across a sky painted gray. The girl who knew she was loved and nothing could get to her, nothing could harm her, because she was safe. She could explore, love and be loved, chase her dreams no matter how irrational or crazy it may seem. She could do anything she wanted because she was enough, because she was loved by her dad. And she was seen by her dad. She was seen by God.

The little girl who would throw herself off the dock into her father’s arms with no doubt she would be caught before her body skimmed the surface of the gemstone colored waves.

She was brave.

And she still is. I am still brave. Brave enough to enter the pain, to hope when it hurts. To hold onto Jesus with everything I got. Brave enough to crawl if I have to, when my strength isn’t quite strong enough to move one foot in front of the other. But I can crawl there. I can crawl to healing and wholeness with Jesus crawling right there with me. Next to me on all fours- dreaming with me, loving me, and pursuing me with each effort forward.

I don’t know what’s on the other side of the waves. I don’t know if another wave is coming, aiming to knock me down with its fierce blow. I don’t know if it’s the white, gentle shore covered with sand.

But I do know there is a rock to stand on even if there is another wave, and the rock will catch me. It will keep me from being knock down to the ocean floor. It will keep my head above, to be able to take a deep breath in and become stronger for whatever is next.