Yesterday, I walked by the ocean. The wind blew a fierce gale. I had to bend my head and lean forward to be able to walk. The sea oats along the boardwalk bent double, whipping vigorously, their heads almost touching the sand. Sandpipers and seagulls scurried at the water’s edge, their small bodies buffeted by the relentless force. A small boy and his grandmother passed me. “Look at all that water!” the little one exclaimed. All that water was boiling like the furious bubbling of a pot of soup left too long on the stove.
Everything was being tossed about in the storm. But strong as it was, this stormy day wasn't claiming anything. Nothing was being destroyed in its path. I walked again today and the sea oats were still there, gently ruffled by the breeze. The sea shells still glistened in the sun, the sandpipers and sea gulls now searched serenely for food along the shore.
We all have stormy times, when our spirits toss about like the waves in the wind. But always, winds die down. Like the soup in that pot on the stove, l
It’s almost as if an Unseen Hand stretches over the waves and says “Peace…be still.”