Almost exactly a year ago, I was looking for answers and hope during a difficult season of motherhood. I walked this beach hoping for rejuvenation and rest for my weary mother’s soul.
Rest came in the form of an empty red chair, a reminder of God’s call to sit, be still, and soak in the beauty all around. I heard Him whisper in that moment, “Come, rest, know my Love.” I wrote about it here, if you’d like to read more about that first encounter.
I wouldn’t call myself a beach person. I much prefer fresh water. However, I’ve always felt the closeness of God when on the beach. I don’t know if it’s the sounds of the waves crashing, the vastness of the sea, or the mystery and beauty of ocean life. Either way when I walk or sit alone on the beach, I sense God’s presence. A children’s book by Max Lucado called A Boy and the Ocean , now one of my new favorites, compares God’s special love to the ocean. It’s always here, always deep, and never ends…if you haven’t read it, you should. That day last year, I experienced the depth of God’s never-ending love by the ocean.
At the time, I couldn’t have known what loss the coming days would hold. I couldn’t have predicted how the season I thought was difficult was about to become darker still. But on that beach, I heard God’s call to rest. I have clung to that gift through all the storms and sadness that came in the days following.
Recently, I found myself on that same shore searching once again. It was later in the day then I had hoped. The beach was more crowded than I preferred on my walks. But if God had met me there before, surely He’d meet me here again. I just needed to find that red chair.
I needed the rest. Even more I longed for the solitude with the one who created me, and to hear His whisper of love. Almost a year had passed since I lost my mother, I wanted things to be as they were on that day last year. I needed to feel His presence in the same way, and to know that all would be well with my soul.
But I couldn’t find the chair. No matter how far I walked, I couldn’t find the red chair.
Instead, I found a blue one.
What struck me was the reminder that life won’t ever be exactly as it was again. I can’t make things go back to the way they were before my mother’s stroke. I can’t dwell on the should haves or could haves that so often feel my mind. I won’t hug her again or here her voice. I can’t hold on to the past and expect things to stay the same, nor should I try.
The color of my chair has changed. My circumstances may not be how I would choose them. Solitude may be harder to claim. The hole in my heart that needs to be filled may be greater. My rest may not be achieved exactly as I hope or prefer, but the invitation remains the same. Just like the vastness of the ocean, the call to rest never changes. And better still, the Caller never stops calling.
Thankfully, my hope rests with the Caller, not the color of the chair.
When I’m willing to answer the call, rest can be found. Rest can be found in a crowded room or in the middle of large-family chaos. It can be found during brief moments of solitude, regardless of how infrequent or unplanned those moments may be. Rest can be found in the depths of pain and sorrow. Regardless of the color of my chair, rest is found in accepting the invitation to come to the arms of Jesus!
Even as I write this, my toddler has made a mess; my 3 year-old is whining; and my 4 teenagers are chattering above the existing chaos. Life will threaten to still my rest or make the call hard to hear, but the invitation to rest is open each moment of every day.
Hear the Savior whisper, “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matt. 11:28
Whether in a red chair or a blue one, by the ocean or in my home, rest is readily available. I need only say, “yes” to the invitation and the One who never stops calling!
