Tag Archives: jon foreman

Saltwater + Seasons

Most days I find myself at the edge of the ocean— Gazing. Praying. Crying. Singing.

I don’t know why I end up here—sometimes in the day, sometimes in the dead of night.

I think these days it’s been the best picture of how I feel inside—high highs and low lows, and waves that won’t let up.

 

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And I wish I could point at one event, one thing in my life that brought me here; but I can’t. The prophet Jeremiah once said, “crash follows hard on crash”–and that feels like the perfect description of life sometimes: Crash upon crash. Wave after wave. And a hurried gasp in between.

Sometimes life just feels like drowning, and sometimes life abundant seems daunting when you’re just trying to keep your head above water.

These days, while I’m gazing at the Santa Cruz waves, I’m also watching the surfers who rise above them. And I remember what every surfer out there knows: Waves hit hard, but waves come in sets; and storms, like seasons, don’t last forever.

 

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Spring starts tomorrow, a detail I would normally let pass right by me—but tonight I’m clinging to this inconsequential day on our calendar, as my promise that nothing lasts forever. Winters and waves are seasons, and these too shall pass.

And I don’t cling to this promise lightly, but I cling to it between those hurried gasps for breath, knowing that without it, life loses hope and purpose. Waves of injustice, hurt, and meaninglessness will pull me under.

Like that prophet Jeremiah, I cling to this promise like the hope he calls to mind in the midst of his long lament. In the middle of pages and pages of tears and injustice, death and pain; he pens these words, “but this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope; The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning…”

 

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Dawn is coming. Spring is coming. His mercies are new every morning.

I’ve been upset about this dying, about getting dragged under by these waves.

But maybe these crashing waves have been a baptism. And maybe this slow death is just a chance for resurrection, a chance to be brought to life–by the One who makes all things new.

the shadow proves the sunshine

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