Waiting for the Light

There is something in me that can’t resist sunrise when I’m staying near the water’s edge. The fear of missing it is so great that I set an alarm, even when I have nothing on the calendar.

I woke up before the alarm today, early enough to wander outside in the pale blue-gray before dawn. The beach was quiet except for the steady rhythm of the waves and the occasional gull calling overhead. The air felt different at this hour, heavy with salt and humidity, soft against my skin before the heat of the day settled in.

High humidity had built big, fluffy clouds on the horizon, blocking my view of the actual sunrise, but the shapes and colors streaking across the sky were striking in their own right. I waited longer than I expected. Then the sun eased out from behind the clouds, and the warmth on my face felt like something offered.

I know the sun rises every day, but there is something about watching it happen here. The tide comes in and goes out with a steadiness I find grounding. The waves keep reaching for the shore regardless, and standing at the edge of it all with my feet pressed into the sand reminds me how small I am and how loved I am in the same breath.

This place helps me hear my own life again. I feel closer to Go

d. I know He is not somehow more present at the ocean than He is in my kitchen or at my desk or in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday. I think it is because I am quiet enough to notice Him. The noise in my head settles near the roar of the waves, and I feel my body release tension with every ebb and flow of the tide.

The ocean has a way of returning me to what is true.

The sun still rises even when clouds block the horizon. Light still finds its way through. God still moves even when I cannot clearly see Him.

There have been seasons of my life where I wanted clarity before I moved forward. I wanted guarantees before I trusted. I wanted visible evidence that something beautiful was coming before I allowed myself to hope again.

Most of life does not unfold that way. Faith rarely arrives with a full blueprint. More often, it looks like standing at the shoreline watching a cloudy horizon and trusting that the sun is still there even when you cannot yet see it. And eventually, it appears. Not always on my timeline, not always in the way I expected, but faithfully and steadily, light breaks through.

I think that is part of why these mornings feel so emotional to me. They remind me who I am underneath all the striving. Here, I remember that I do not have to force my way into becoming. God is already shaping me through every ordinary moment, every disappointment, every answered prayer, every long stretch of waiting, and every sunrise that arrives, whether I am ready for it or not.

It helps me remember what matters.

And standing at the edge of the ocean with sand clinging to my feet and sunlight finally breaking through the clouds, I feel a little closer to the woman God created me to be.

Be happy 🧡