Finding Room to Breathe

The slow cadence of small, white-capped waves slides against the sand, rolls over beach wood, and washed-up stones. Between horizon and water, there isn’t much difference between the blues. Wisps of clouds hang in the azure sky, mirroring the sparkle of the lake with a shimmer of its own. My legs stretch, weight shifting on a driftwood log lodged with sand as I take my time exhaling a long-kept breath.

Mere feet from the lapping waves of Lake Michigan, I am alone, like I have slipped off the radar to nestle myself in a quiet nook on the shore. A steady rhythm of waves continues to tap against the tiny rocks, smooth with years of washing by the water. I am kissed by the breeze, which runs renewing fingers through my hair. After suffocating weeks of strained sleep and an ever-running mind, for the first time, I am full of peace, drifting in the soothing salve of restoration.

For what seems like the hundredth time, I have taken on too much over the months, cramming every spare minute with some activity, some appointment, something to take the place of just laying still with God. I thought I could fit Him in when I had time, then marveled at the realization that I found no more time to give. Each night I’d burn my lamp into the early morning hours, contemplating whether I was doing enough for Him or if I’ve been falling into a selfish timetable. The more I slammed into my schedule, the emptier I felt inside. Sure, I was committed to relationships and family, the work I did, and serving in church, but something stuck in me like a small thorn lodged in my spirit. I was a caffeinated, chocolate-addicted ticking time bomb who couldn’t even arrange her prayers into coherent sentences. I made a mess of myself and had no idea how to clean up.

A small opening is carved out today for a photography adventure with a friend, but at the last second, she texts to say she had to reschedule. This irks me at first, because if I had known sooner, I could have rearranged my schedule to move to the next task sooner. But I go to the spot at the nature preserve we were to meet anyway, something in me beckoning to be there. As I drive through the underhanging branches, get out of my car to wind around the soft dirt and woodchip-splayed paths, I feel a calm wrap over me, a warm shawl I’ve shrugged off too many times. It grows stronger as I step onto the wooden footbridge beckoning me further into the woods, and I admire the budding trees overhead. The sky blazes a trail of clouds to a clearing by the shore, where I sit cross-legged and paste my gaze to the lake, which sings out its welcome. For a time, I don’t think, don’t blink, don’t even form proper praise. I just breathe, “Thank You.”

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Honored to have my essay in the fall issue of The Sisterhood Magazine and would be happy if you joined me there to read the rest.