There were days when all I could do is just get in my car and drive. Whatever the heck was going on in my life at that point had reached its limit and my only response was just to get away. I would hop in my car and take the often silent drive up the 101 freeway to the only place I felt truly at peace and connected to God. For someone you couldn’t pay to go to the beach in Chicago, I had grown rather fond of my Malibu hideaway. I loved the spiraling drive through the mountains and the feeling I got when I could finally see the water peeking from behind the cliffs as I got closer. It never got old for me.
I would always feel this release, like my shoulders would relax and my breath would start to slow as if I were surrendering into the comforts of a much-needed embrace after a long hard day. And some of them were very long and extremely hard. Days that I wondered if I was good enough. Days that I questioned if I was making the right decisions. Days I grieved over the children I’d never have and a love that was lost. Days when I wept over dreams that seemed so far away and the promises that had yet to be fulfilled. Days when all I wanted was my momma.
It was during those long drives that I would have some of my most intimate and vulnerable talks with God. There was just something about the water that soothed me and reminded me of how great and mighty God was. And it didn’t matter what the situation or circumstances were that had led me there, once I got to the water I knew everything was going to be okay. It was at the edge of the sand where the sound of the waves would drown out all of life’s worries and cares and the cool gentle waves that brushed over my feet would carry them far, far away. This was my place of surrender and serenity.
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