I'm probably made of a bit more water than the rest of you

We walked along the shoreline, naked three-year-old feet and my own, sinking into cool sand, light waves rushing over our toes now and then. To look out at the vastness of the sea allowed me a serenity I had not felt for two weeks. Truly, a comfort that I had not felt for three years. There is something about the moist sea air, the endless waves and the distant horizon where they meet that draws me in, calms my soul. Nothing is perfect at the seashore. It never is. Broken shells, seaweed on logs- all so imperfectly natural and yet calming because it doesn't try to be anything else.

That water- that crisp, endless water calls to me like few other things do. When I was in college, I nannied for a family who lived right on the waterfront. My favorite time of day was the evening, when the girls were near sleeping and they would curl up on my lap and we would rock, rock, rock. I would look out over the ocean and the cares of this temporary world would pass away- and soon the baby would be heavy and warm, fast asleep. I would continue rocking, enveloped in the silence, watching that perfect child sleep so soundly. The feeling of that place, that time in my life is so real to me I can still feel it, because it was my refuge through the chaos that was my last year of college. I would leave refreshed, only to plunge myself squarely back into the hectic pace that was college, jobs, apartment, dishes, homework.

The week I spent in Washington was wonderful. I saw friends and family and new babies. I accidentally bumped into an old friend and had an amazing talk with my sister. It was a week filled with visits and the luxury of endless hot showers. I ate Thai food. Never do these times seem long enough. I look back and with such warm longing - remembering the laughs, the baby giggles, and the talks long into the night. I am amazingly blessed to have the people I do surrounding me.

But amidst it all, I had no idea the noise was effecting me so. Not until I walked along that shoreline did I realize what was missing- the quiet, the peaceful silence that allows my mind to recharge.

It has taken me days to quiet my brain down from the constancy of the city- like a young child giddy with excitement plays a party game by spinning head-down on a bat. Round and round they go, excited but a bit disoriented until they reach the magic number, let go, and stagger about, searching for solid footing. I came home to a quiet house, filled it up with lists and busy-ness, still reeling from my jaunt into modern society.

And finally, today, I found my solid footing. The skies opened up and poured water on that black, black ground, soaking the thirsty roots of new spring plants. The clouds made the earth that pale-grey hue every Northwesterner knows. If I close my eyes, the wind is that same wind that travels over miles and miles of ocean waves to brush up next to me. The world outside my front door now consists of endless rows of corn and beans that stop only at the horizon. Tractors drive slowly back and forth over the fields and birds fill the air with their songs.

Though quite imperfect, it is serene and un-complex. Though lacking the sea-salty air, it is my ocean in the middle of nowhere. Simple. Quiet. To some it may seem lonely, forbidding with it's lack of noise and entertainment. But it grounds me, allows me to think, to breathe. Finally, God reminds me that home truly is where you make it and what you make it. He has given me an ocean in the middle of a continent.