3:59 AM. On the road to Santo Domingo, I wake from a fitful sleep. In a tiny bus filled with 23 people, there’s not much room nor comfortability to really sleep a lot. But the view immediately to my right just outside the window captivates my tired mind. Palm trees sway, and in the dim light of the street lights, I can see a glittering black ocean, stretching all the way out to meet the horizon.
What are you doing here? I thought, admittedly in tired confusion. God, why did you put an ocean right there? I could jump out and be in the water if I wanted to.
I was genuinely confused on how an ocean could be so close to the highway we were driving on (I definitely did not grow up anywhere near the water), and in my shock I didn’t really stop to get an answer. But it astonished me that I have seen the ocean in so many different ways since coming on this trip, and this was a new one. A glittery black is the way I like it to sound, reaching out forever until it meets the dark blue sky.
I feel as if I have had the honor of seeing God’s creation in multiple different ways. I’ve seen it from afar. I’ve seen it up close. Now, I’ve seen it at sunrise, sunset, and well after midnight. I’ve seen it during the day and during the night, and I’ve seen the ocean from above and from below. I’ve met some of the creatures that live above the waters, and I’ve now met some of the ones that live below.
Last Friday, my squad went snorkeling for our very last adventure day. A boat took us out on the water, and we sailed around for a bit looking at the beach from all the way out, and looking at the ever-distant horizon. Then, we stopped, and our guide told us we could jump out into the water with all our gear on. It was scary! I have never swum in the ocean (until then) past a place where I could not touch the bottom with my feet. But this time, I had a squad of 20-ish people, diving flippers, and a tube to breathe through. So logically, I’d be fine. Plus, I know how to swim pretty well. It was difficult convincing myself to jump off the boat into deep waters, but there comes a point where you just have to do things instead of convince yourself that you should.
And underwater, it was amazing. The water of the Carribean Sea is so clear and blue that even if you’re swimming without goggles you can see people while they’re underwater in HD clarity. But with goggles is even better! They gave us views to coral reef, fishies, and each other. And it was absolutely beautiful.
We snorkeled (snorked?) around for a bit, marvelling at the entire world just underneath the ocean that most people have no idea is there! The reef, while mostly dead because of human activity, was still incredibly beautiful and intricately detailed. The fishies, while scared of so many people swimming around in their territory, sparkled underneath the sunlight coming in through the waves. We saw grey fish, blue fish, parrotfish, and a large silver and yellow fish with no side fins, only the tail on the back.
In and out the fishies darted through the coral reef, hiding in the spots only they have ever gotten the privilege to know about. They called their friends to come look at us, and then would swim away before we could do much more than reach a hand out. It was so, so amazing.
Then, our guide came out in the water with us. He’s done this a thousand times, and it never gets old for him. Each time he comes out, he carries fishie snacks. Fishie snacks are really just plastic bottles full of bread for them to eat. (Don’t worry, they only eat the bread!)
He held out the bottle, and I don’t know if fishies have a sense of smell, but they flocked to him like they had suddenly become birds. Their mouths bobbed open and closed as fishies do; everyone knows they obviously speak in an unknowable, unheard fishie language.
Nevertheless, they were very cute and swam up to our guide. In my excitement and fascination, I reached my hand out to pet one and instead recieved a piece of bread from our guide. Now, the fishies flocked to me, swimming all around me in an unashamed desire for more bread. Only a few who were brave enough to take from my hand got precious bites and I could feel their tiny teeth scraping at my fingers. Silver backs of fishies flashed in the sunlight and I felt a few smooth-scaled backs touch my hands for the briefest of moments before they all swam off to get more of their meal.
It was an incredible, intimate moment with God’s creation.
Isn’t it incredible that God creates things for us to explore? Isn’t it incredible that in that moment, all we can think is I am part of something much bigger than myself because it sure wasn’t you who created the ocean or the sand on the beach, and you definitely weren’t the one who carved details into the coral reef or the one who came up with so many design ideas for fishies but you know the one who did. You’re not the one who designed a million different kinds of sand, but you are the one who gets to experience them. From the hot black sand that glitters like diamonds on the beaches of Costa Rica to the cool White Sands of New Mexico in the literal desert, you’re the one who can only experience the creation you are a part of.
In this way, God is reflected in his creation. There isn’t just one kind of sand. There isn’t just one kind of butterfly or tree or leaf or even air– in Colorado it’s dry but in the Dominican it’s humid. God is the same way. He isn’t just one way, he’s every way there could be. God isn’t kept in a box because he’s simply too big for it. There are so many parts of creation because it’s a part of who God is; he cannot make something in which he does not, in some way, show himself.
The difference between us and God is that we are always changing, always becoming different people. God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. We are always learning and growing. And in that, it’s time to let go of what I used to be.
Today on an incredibly long road trip the Lord asked me, “Sophia, are you still clinging onto that way of life?”
I refused to let go of the Race and what happened there. I refused to acknowledge that it was over and that I am in a new season. I thought of this as The Waiting, because there is something new coming for me in this next fall semester. Summer was the waiting- but summer is its own season, just like God intended. I am not meant to stay in that mindset, in those moments, forever.
Maybe this now is the time to experience God from another angle. Just like seeing the ocean at night, or the different colors and types of sand, it is a new time to see God from a new perspective. And at the same time, it’s time to put away the idea that I need to be the same person I was nine months ago, or two months ago, even four days ago.
I must be like the fishies and swim to the next place I know my daily bread will be.
The grieving process isn’t easy. I haven’t even started it yet- I’ve been busy travelling since I got back to the US and I just don’t feel like grieving when I’m standing next to the world’s largest pistachio with my siblings in New Mexico. But I’m getting there. God is by my side all the time even when things aren’t going the way I want them to, and in the in-between moments I am still trying to seek him.
And maybe I’ll try it in a new way, something I haven’t tried before. After all, what is there to lose?
