When I was a little girl, we took trips to the beach in all seasons and I loved collecting seashells from the shore. I loved and still love, the sound of the waters crashing. For me the ocean is one of those special places where I feel God's presence like none other. The sea is so wide and wild and wonderful. I remember my daddy showing me how I could hold a shell up to my ear and hear the ocean roaring inside. Even when I went back home I could hear that little piece of the sea caught in my shells stored up on the shelf and I could remember the sound until next time.
Today I feel stretched thin. Slight and fragile. Tipping close to tears
and then just when I think they're gonna fall, they slip back. Numb and
yet feeling, electric eels pulsing through my brain. On days like this I'm grateful for the thoughts that flicker in and out trading places with my sad ones. Prayers answered, bad days lived through, victories won. Songs of hope brought to my remembrance. Favorite psalms and verses parading across my torn heart like banners waved high.
At times when its hard, when I'm tired and sad and I have a hard time remembering His sound, the way He speaks to me, I am thankful for these little bits of stored up promises. My personal collection of love letters from my Father. Snippets of the bigness that is my God, souvenirs of what He has done for me and reminders that He will get me through.