There is something about living near the water that speaks to my soul. I’ll weave my way through the grid of our town and feel my chest expand and the tension in my shoulders wither when I catch the first sight of the shore. It symbolizes more. That there is more to it all. That there is an entire existence I can only see the surface of. That would be a frightening thing if I didn’t know the One who made it all, I suppose. But for me, it feels like a reminder that I don’t have to know it all or have it all figured out or under control.
It may have all started with a childhood spent at the lake house. With skipping stones, (even though I never got good at it), water skiing, and washing off in the water at the end of the day. It was reawakened when we lived at the lake house for the first few years of our marriage. For the first time, I got to see the water through all the seasons and each sunset seemed more stunning than the one before.
When we moved to Kenosha, my day would revolve around loading the kids into their stroller and running until we at least caught sight of that water. Sometimes we’d wander down the sandy shore of Lake Michigan to find a shell, sometimes we’d run another mile to the lighthouse to stand and bask in the sun for a moment, but even just seeing the shore quenched this thirst of mine.
Now we live just few blocks away from the sight of Lake Geneva and one mile away from the Lake house. Water on either side of me. Wether I’m driving or running, the view hits me the same way and it changes the way I breathe.
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’ll reach my hand out to find Jordan and remind myself that he’s there and then go back to sleep. It’s a security thing. That’s what it’s like to live by the water. I’m always reaching for it and am comforted when I see that it’s still there.
I don’t know for certain that I’ll always live by the water, though I’ll always want to. For now, it’s a gift that I’m enjoying while I have it. If I find myself landlocked one day, I’ll probably live with that nagging feeling that I’m reaching out and searching for something until I catch sight of a shore again and feel that tension release, and that reminder that I’m made by the same God that knows the depths of the water and has washed me clean with it.