Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. Genesis 1:2 NIV
I walked that dock for years; the familiar, sturdy boards beneath my feet. Under and around them, the waves faithfully carried the sun in an endless attempt to impart their gift on the shore.
But no walking today. I sit on the planks, feet dangling, toes turning the tide in circles. Mindless circles that I can’t even see; my heart’s slipped far below the surface, out of the reach of reason or feeling or thought.
Below the waves, all is quiet and dark, muddled and floating. An endless tide of sighing carries me from day to night, night to day.
But a friend comes, and sits beside me. Listening, praying, watching, waiting; faithfulness that carries the scent of heaven.
And the Spirit waits with us; endless God hovering over.
There, resting on the wood, as in the Psalms, deep calls to deep. Waves and breakers sweep over me.
But not just any: Your waves and breakers. Your waves…Yours.
And there, between His fire and His water, He does it again: He makes a Way.
Through simple words shared, He splits apart the waters, and the deep in my heart becomes dry. And we walk across—friend and Spirit and I. And His Words make the way: He saves; He alone.
The time for standing comes again. So I rise and find strength by pressing my needy feet against the rough boards. I walk the dock again, the sturdy wood beneath my feet, as if I walk on water.
And so I stand and watch with new eyes. I wait while under and around the waves faithfully carry the sun to shore. I watch another walking. Then she sits, feet dangling, toes turning mindless circles.
I befriend her; I wait on the well-worn wood as the waters work His wonders: I will witness Him work hope again.
And I know the Spirit, endless, still hovers over the deep.