Last Sunday I decided it was time to take the little ones to the north shore to check out the wave action. For those of you who don't know (and why should you, I didn't until I moved here), the North Shore is THE place to surf in the winter - they have all sorts of competitions and such, because the surf is the best in the winter. Like 10-30 foot waves. I think they were coming in around 15 feet on my visit. On top of that you can often see humpback whales out in the ocean and sea turtles chillin' on the beach.
My trip was short, I just wanted to spend some time listening to the waves crash. Garin was incredibly freaked out by the waves. Funny, because 6 months earlier he thought he was invincible and kept running out into the water. Granted, the waves were only about 2-3 feet, but when you're less than 3 feet tall, they SHOULD be scary. But turn the clock and all of a sudden the loud crashing sound isn't so fun anymore. But it's definitely a different look and sound. It's raw and passionate. There's no splashing in these waves. They crash with thunder and you can feel the spray a hundred feet away. Down the shore I can see the waves crash up against the wall, spraying 40-50 feet into the air. In the other direction I see a score of heads bobbing in the swells, waiting for a perfect pipeline to come along. These surfers have their own community, and their own etiquette -somehow they all seem to know whose turn it is. It's almost poetic watching them catch a wave and ride it, endlessly, towards the beach. It must take an amazing athletic ability to keep balance. They're riding the waves into Waimea Bay - apparently this isn't for the beginning surfer - you have to earn your stripes before you're ready for Waimea Bay in the winter.
Meanwhile, I'm snapping pictures of Garin as he's trying to figure out what's going on. Brianna is passed out in my sling, strapped to me, oblivious to the raw harmony of God's creation forming around us, instead she's listening to her mother's heartbeat, perhaps comforted by the memory of her time in my womb. She always seems most comfortable curled into a bundle next to my chest.
As we walk towards the water, Garin starts to whimper and grabs my leg, trying to crawl up into my arms. Instead I wrap my arms around him, and comfort him with whispers in his ear. I tell him it's just water. He points to the waves, and says in a tearful voice, "Wa-yee?" I nod and wrap my arm around me, and we stare in wonder at the waves. I take this moment to think of how God takes care of us. In our trials and fears, He comes close to us and whispers words of comfort in our ears. He tells us not to fear, because we are in His arms, and he won't let the waves take us away.
I think of Peter, walking on the water, at first oblivious to the storm raging around him, eyes fixed on Christ. But his faith fails him when he loses his focus on Christ and starts to fix his eyes on the waves - on the fears of the world. It's this image that reminds me in my current trials of what I need to focus on. Not to be like Peter, looking to the waves and allowing my fear of them to take me under. Instead, I need to be like Garin, allowing my Protector to take me in His arms and to remind me that He will keep his children safe.
God bless you all, and thank you for your prayers.
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