I watched this documentary on Netflix the other day…

LOSING SIGHT OF SHORE – “follows the extraordinary journey of four brave women known as the Coxless Crew that set out to row the Pacific Ocean from America to Australia unsupported. As they row over 8,000 miles during their nine months at sea, they face extreme mental and physical challenges they must overcome in order to go down in history. This is a story of perseverance, friendship, and the power of the human spirit. Everyone has a Pacific to cross.”

I’m not sure I’d use the word “courage” to describe our jump into the ocean of uprooting from our home of 13 & 1/2 years and moving to a city about 5 hours from the shore we’ve known for over a decade.

And I know our personal ocean is quite calm compared to others, and there is far less pain in our Pacific than others will experience in their own ocean crossings.

But here we are, smack dab in the middle of our ocean, riding the waves and facing the storms, and appreciating the calm days as best we can.

And on days like today, when the waves are relentless, I find it helps to write it all down and share it with you 🙂

Our shore disappeared from sight a few months ago. We had been staring at this particular ocean for a few months, wondering if it was time to set sail, to leave our shore of home, community, church, friends, and familiar sights and sounds. After much soul-searching and praying and chatting, we decided to step into the boat and start the journey to a new ministry, new schools, new focus, new community, new friends, and new every-days.

The ocean crossing has been so calm some days – with blue skies, whales breaching, birds soaring, and a view that extends far into the horizon. We can see so clearly on those days, we can almost see our destination across the water.

Then more waves, storm clouds roll in, rain pelts down heavy on us, the wind blows us this way and that, making it necessary to constantly correct course.

I am always reminded of my Word for 2017…

Still

And the Oceans song that goes along with it

And the quote “I can trust the waves for I know the One who made the ocean”

We’ve been out on the ocean for a few months – embarking in our hearts before we removed ourselves physically from the safety of shore.

Our boat is slowly but surely taking us across the water, we are rowing as best we can, there have been breaks in the crossing along the way – moments of laughter, amused incredulity at our situation, utmost trust that God is, in fact, in control.

But there have been dark days, stormy days, and doldrum days.

Days when there’s nothing else to do but sit on the water and wait.

Or days when the horizon disappears in the waves.

Or days when the clouds touch the water and I can’t tell what’s up from down.

Today the sky is gray, today I know there are waves coming. What I don’t know is how big they will be, if they will be storm waves or fun waves, and how much they will toss our boat around as we ride them.

Like all the other days on the ocean so far, this one will end, and we will be that much further from shore, and that much closer to our destination.

The awaiting shore is still so unfamiliar to me, I can’t even describe our new neighbourhood, or the schools the boys will attend, or the closest grocery store – because not even those things are solid ground to land on yet.

But I do know there are friends waiting, waving at us even across the expanse still to travel. There are family members scanning the horizon, keeping a close eye out for any sight of us.

And that helps in the crossing and the wave-riding, still far from shore, still unsure how many course-corrections there are yet to make, still hoping today will be calm waters, swift currents, blue skies and whale sightings.

I wish you well as you cross your Pacific, whatever it may be, whatever waves may come today – may you end today much farther ahead in your journey than where you began.

🙂