On my desk there is also a bottle of salty water which I filled up when I went to the sea. I stared out into the distance and I saw nothing but water and sky. Were there a sky and a sea, I couldn't have told you. That day they became as one, a seamless field of blue. Above me the white clouds shone brilliantly whisked across by the wind one shape melting into the next upon their cotton faces; I think it's a bird. No, wait, it's a dragon now. Then my attention shifts as the tide has just reached my feet. Out there it seems so placid, like a blue stained plate of glass, and here the waves rise boldly. They crown themselves with white caps of froth and strut their way one after another like a line of kings only to bow, each in their turn, on the shells and shore. They kiss my feet with cool lips, they touch me on the ankles before they ebb with a rushing peaceful sound into the sea. What is a drop to God? An ocean? A lake? Who is he that asked for water, an ocean was made, and called it a drop? That he did only walking by. Come good ocean and sweep the shells to sand, and my heart for such sins to keep me from shame. Pour one thousand oceans, pour them all, and still the stains remain. Who is my God? I ask it of myself again, and breathe.
Oh, good breath, I remember breathing you once! It was a summer night when I was young. The sun had set only an hour before; the sky still glowed purple as the first stars peeked out from their sun-down veils. Warmth had not yet left and it rested on me like a soft blanket on a resting infant. Tall handsome willow oaks towered like black giants, their branches and leaves making a canopy. And spoken from everywhere came the speechless voices of crickets, frogs, and of whipporwills. It was not that which caused the breath. It came soon after with a whisper, the sound of rushing from far away dancing treetop to treetop. Searching through the forest it found me, a young man of 18 or 19 years. It was the wind lightly caressing my face and neck, tossing my hair as if I were an old friend. It was that which caused me to breathe and fill my spirit with all sorts of wonder. Such a good breath, come again and shake these trees to revive this spirit, and my heart for such sins to keep me from shame. Send thundebolt and all sorts of fire, send storms and a hurricane, even then the blood I've spilt will not be forgotten. Who is he? Adam lay as clay and a breath from God made him a living man. That he did only walking by.
And who am I, this so-called man? I say, "Who is my God?" I scream it out as if a tortured animal inside a cage. I seek comfort from the sun; I am guided by its light. I rest by the water's side where the waves pour over and sink my feet in the sand; I am awed by it's majesty and size. Is water much different from the wind? Can I see either? I stand on the earth and I find my security, the mountains rise, the rivers flow, the canyons are cut into beds of stone. A flower blooms and I learn of beauty. A girl speaks my name and I know my place. I accomplish some amazing feat in the name of strength and find my purpose. I have done everything under the sun to find my heart only to hide it again for such sin to keep me from shame. And so much have I done, it has all amounted to nothing. Yet I find so much in these things as if they were God when he merely made them walking by. And I still have to ask, WHO IS MY GOD?
Have I seen him; have I felt his touch like the sun or the wind? Have I heard his words and listened? A man was bleeding, his head was pierced and his back was cut. A mob screamed in the square that he had not had enough. Another man cleaned his hands in a bowl. Should one man be treated so harshly? Oh, how my heart breaks to know that he's done nothing wrong. It would be in ruins if it were not for the tomb which was empty on the third day. Who is my God? I wonder it silently. A blank stare covers my face as I search my wrists for holes that should be there. The monotonous tone of my fan drones as it blows a comfortable breeze across me; this I feel instead of anguish. Outside I hear the singing of birds instead of judgement. Inside my heart I feel the satisfaction in life that I could not find in everything else under the sun. Quests for strength, and comfort, and purpose, and place become as shadows in the light of one prayer: Come good Jesus and rescue this world to gates of Kingdom come, and my heart for such sins to keep me from shame. This done, still, only walking by.