Beyond the Se[e/a].

I've been dreaming a lot about anchors lately.

Not quite sure if its because of the post-beach trip still on my mind but for some reason or another I cannot seem to forget the feeling of my toes in the sand, my heart in the sea and my head in the clouds. That and a sermon a couple weeks back during mass that struck more than the usually lonely chord. 

I found my spot next to my baby sister along the aisles of seats. I was late, unfortunately, as I tuned in and realized that the priest was already half way through his sermon. Unfortunate I say the least, because as soon as I honed on to his words, I immediately realized I had already missed the introduction to one heck of a relatable sermon (aren't those the best kinds?) He likened all of our internal processes to the sea as he had observed the majority of those he encountered all possessed a quality that I was also guilty of more often then not. Most of us are overly emotional. The sea is so fickle he explained, one minute it is calm and quiet, the next a raging storm of fifty foot waves. But the man had a point, how often do our emotions fluctuate to those extremes? Do yours? ( Raises hand. ) Who gets too involved? (Raises hand.) Who gets exhausted? ( Raises hand.) Who looks like a completely crazy bipolar schizophrenic afterwards? (Raises hand.) Do you want to know why this happens? 

It is because we anchor ourselves to the wrong things. We tie our anchors of happiness, wholeness, and peace of mind to the never ending waves of people, expectations and disappointments. The priest then proceeded to saying this: We must anchor ourselves to God. Only then he said, will we achieve what you find 30 feet below the sea. Thirty feet below where the sea meets the sky, the water is calm. It does not matter whether the sun is shinning or the storms are terrorizing. Thirty feet below the water is calm. The water is steady. The water is safe. 

Needless to say I wanted to give the man a standing ovation after his sermon. 

But darlings, we know change doesn't come over night. And in between the time I have heard that sermon and now as I type these words at my favorite coffee shop, I will confess that I have had more than one emotional moment. A moment likened to seeing your poor little ship drowning in an abyss of water. 

I do, however, guarantee you this:

 Anchor your soul to God and your ship will always find it's way to port.

And if another storm comes along the way, 
and you find your sails struck by lightning, 
have faith and you will find that...

You will not shatter.
You will not break.
You will not crack.

Your insides do not fall into themselves in a series of organ failures. Your chest does not get heavy or constrict. Your hopes are not diminished, your worth is not on trial. 

You are not taken aback.
You do not flinch.
You do not bat a fucking eye lash.

Because you find that you are no longer the rock silently suffering as  it gets beaten back by the constant crash of the water. You are not the bullying waves, slaves to the highs and lows of it's emotions, it's insecurities, it's fatal inconsistency. 

You are the sunshine that peaks through the clouds.
You are the song in the heart of the weary sailor.
You are the promise in each breaking light of dawn. 

A promise that washes over with every wave. 
A song that echoes through every storm.


A song.
A promise.
That you are strong.
You are steady.

You are safe.