Years ago during one of my college summers, I spent three months on the Atlantic Coast in Ogunquit, Maine. It was my first experience being so far away from home, and that, along with some interpersonal conflict and some money worries, made it a very difficult summer.
I was lonely and heart broken and in need of hearing from God. My time in the Word was helpful, but my time in His hand was where He whispered my name.
Of course, he didn’t reach down with an actual hand, but there was a large rock along the path next to the coast that had an indent just like a palm. And if I laid in there kind of curled up, I fit exactly, listening to the water lapping against the shore in a rhythm that sounded like Jesus saying my name.
I remembered that rock and that rhythm this morning as I walked along the Pacific Coast, almost 20 years later. This time, I’m on vacation, and my time here with family is blissful. But it’s been a busy summer, and when I get home there are decisions to make and a new season to enter, and I found myself again, as always, in need of hearing from God.
This shoreline is far away from the rock with the palm, and nothing like the open fields of home, but his voice is still audible here. He found me in Maine, he walks with me in Indiana, and he rests with me here in Washington.