Waves
It’s mid-morning. The sun climbs hot and bright through the day’s early sky, burning the last of the night’s cool respite. I straddle a surfboard somewhere off the west coast of Costa Rica, observing the rhythm of the sea as I float on its surface, the sets of waves ebbing and flowing toward the shore. It’s as though the ocean itself has a heartbeat, slow but mighty, somewhere in the depths of the earth.
I sit with my feet in the water, treading lightly to keep myself facing the surf, because we never turn our back on the ocean. A thin layer of skin on top of my toes has been washed away by the board and the sea, but eventually the sting of the salt makes it numb. A brutal sunburn aches like a bruise on the underside of my legs, but the friction with the board eventually makes this go numb, too. My shoulders are sore and fatigued from days of paddling, and my ribs are lightly bruised where my chest meets my board. Exhaustion and pain wrack my body, but my spirit is light with anticipation and determination as I eagerly wait my turn in the lineup. I’m feeling frothy, but I have to pick my chance carefully. I’d already been out in the sun for hours, and my energy waned. But with every successful wave, I wanted just one more. So I paddled, forcing myself to fight the dull ache in my shoulders, taking one-armed strokes so I could briefly rest the other. When there was nothing to do but wait, I scanned the surrounding landscape, from the jungles that stretched endlessly up and down the beach nearly reaching the water’s edge to the ocean’s horizon and the distant lands on the other side of the cove.
And when a new set rolls in, I prepare myself to chase down a wave that looks both promising and manageable. It takes much more experience than I had to really know where to be in the water, and when to start paddling. I listen to my instructors, searching for the balance between external input and internal intuition, and when I know I can make it, I kick my feet up, put my chin on the board, and paddle as hard as I can.
With the right angle and timing, and with just one extra paddle, suddenly the energy of the wave is beneath me, carrying me like a leaf on a current of wind. Carefully but without wasting a moment, I place my hands beneath my chest, pushing myself up and placing my feet squarely along the board’s lengthwise center. I lean forward just enough to propel me further into the wave so I can avoid the break, and in a moment that feels infinite, I am one with my board, the sea, and everything else beyond.
There’s nothing quite like the feeling of standing on a surfboard while it falls into the downward trough of a wave. All of space and time seems to meld together, bringing the precise present moment into the focus of every sense. There is little to no thought in that moment, just sensation. There’s no way to use language to describe it; it is a feeling that can only be felt to be known. It is the feeling of divine eternity; that essence of reality that goes beyond the thinking mind. It’s like falling in love; beautiful and terrifying, thrilling, wondrous, but ultimately unexplainable.
It’s a feeling you want to feel again and again and again; a feeling that keeps you embracing the sting of saltwater on raw wounds, of friction on fresh sunburns, and of dull, aching pain that weighs heavy on the muscles and licks the bones.
It’s a feeling that makes this chaotic whirlwind of experience that we call life an endeavor worthy of our greatest attention and appreciation.
When my friend Izzy asked me to join her on a surf retreat, I thought, why not? Before this venture into the coastal jungles of central America, I could probably count on a single hand how many times I stood up on a surfboard, but a week-long retreat with multiple lifelong surfers and experienced instructors was a great place to see my experience grow. There are many elements of surfing that come together within the surfer to make them successful, from paddling skills to pop-up techniques to knowing the surf and understanding its sweet spots. Being landlocked in the mountainous region of Colorado, I knew very little about surfing on the whole prior to the retreat, and when the adventure started, I realized I knew even less than I thought I did. But I was there to learn, and after every day spent chasing waves, I walked away with a little more knowledge, understanding, and experience. By the end of the week, I was thinking about which country would be my next surfing destination.
Because it’s not just the feeling of being on a wave, or even making new friends, having new adventures, soaking up the sun and the sights of beautiful landscapes that makes surfing so great; it’s what it can teach us about ourselves, and the wisdom it captures in moments of clarifying metaphors. In the parallels drawn between surfing and the whole of life itself, there are countless nuggets of deeper insights and lessons. Because life, even far away from any ocean, is much like surfing. Just as we swim, paddle, and fall when we meet the ocean’s coastal ripples, we swim, paddle, and fall on the ripples of an ever-changing universe. We exist as, in, and through an endlessly moving ocean of energy all around and within us. Every moment brings a new set of waves, and we get to choose how we want to navigate them. We won’t always stand up, but sometimes we will. Our timing will be right, and our timing will be wrong. We’ll grow tired and sore, but there will be moments that have us paddling for more. We will fall off our board, and sometimes we’ll lose it completely.
But there will always be another wave, another chance, to get it right.
When I graduated from college last year, I needed to take some time to figure out what was next. I had a plan, and for a while it was an exciting one, but as the future approached, it felt less and less secure. I was standing on a wave I didn’t know was the right one, trying and failing to find my balance. At times, I’ve been thrown off completely, held under by a roaring wave, holding my breath as I curl into a ball and fend off panic, knowing eventually I will rise to the surface again. In some of those moments, it feels like I’ve lost my board completely, and it’s all I can do to kick my feet hard enough to keep my head above water while I try to find it. I’ve spent months, perhaps even years, feeling adrift in an empty ocean.
But a few months ago, a glimmer of hope appeared on the horizon; a distant strip of land, breaking through the confusion of an endlessly expanding, all-consuming ocean, providing, finally, a sense of direction. In my heart I knew it was right, and when I paddled toward that hopeful land, the currents of the universe propelled me further, filling me with an even greater confidence that it was the direction I was meant to go.
I have always struggled to know my place in this world. I have no innate talents that make my direction obvious, and my passions are only loosely connected to a few available possibilities. But one thing shines forth in the cloud of obscurities: a strong desire to help others, and to make the world a better place, even if it is only slight at best. Because just as the sun shines not for itself and rivers don’t drink their own water, our lives are meant to be lived in service of others. Combining my deeply held curiosities for the greatest philosophical mystery of all, that which we might call God or Truth, with that want to contribute to the world in such a way that is helpful and even necessary, I heard the whispers of a call that quickly crescendoed into an unrelenting thrum: the call to become an interfaith chaplain.
It’s no secret that our world today is wrought with all sorts of problems. Wars rage in many places, conflicts tear families apart, the success of democracy is being questioned and threatened, and almost everywhere one looks, there is some constructed division keeping us from connecting to each other and ourselves. Religion and spirituality is a tricky business, and many people amble about without giving it much thought anymore. A veil of nihilism seems to have settled on much of our culture, but few seem to wonder at what cost. The way I see it, a person can only be as peaceful as their own understanding of reality. If this understanding is shaky, our relationship to ourselves and the world around is, too. In order to create a peaceful world, the individuals that comprise it must themselves be peaceful, and it is in faith that we find it. Everyone needs faith of some kind, otherwise life is an empty, meaningless chorus of painful melodies and melancholy rhythms, and every excuse to commit horrific atrocities against one another can be written off. There is no peace, no sense of justice, and, worst of all, no hope.
And if we need any one thing right now more than any other, it’s hope. Hope for a better future, hope for a better world.
One of the greatest gifts my parents ever gave me was the freedom to be curious and seek answers for myself. My spirituality has long been a cornerstone of my life, but in the last couple of years, it has taken a whole new form of significance, becoming my epicenter of meaning and purpose. When I made the decision to apply to the Iliff School of Theology, I knew this was something the universe had inevitably been pushing me toward for quite some time. When I was accepted, suddenly everything I thought was going to happen later this year changed. The current shifted, the wind changed direction, and the waves began to break differently. For so long it felt as though I had lost my board, but amidst these changing tides, I found it, and this time, it sits beneath me with a greater security than ever before.
I think all of us long to find our place in the world, and to know that what we are doing is, in some way or another, meaningful. If you told me a few years ago I’d be on track to becoming a chaplain, I don’t know what I would’ve thought about it. Maybe it would’ve made immediate sense, even then, or maybe it still would’ve taken me some time to hear the call. But the thing about life is that we are only in control of ourselves and the board we use to ride its waves. The tide, the current, the swell, the break — none of that is up to us. Those are energies beyond our human power; energies that we must learn to trust in order to ride, and that we must be willing to learn from when we fail to do so.
This wave appeared quite suddenly, but when it did, I knew it was mine to ride. I positioned myself as best I could and paddled with a greater ease than I’d previously known, and when the wave came beneath me, there was no doubt in my mind that I was going to stand up and ride it into shore.
So I am, and on that shore I see home: a place that belongs to me and I to it, and in this moment of eternity that beckons me forward, I see endless possibilities for everything the future holds. And rather than face an empty, threatening ocean that fills me with doubt, I face a rolling surf that fills me with meaning, purpose, and hope. I stand on my board with confidence and gratitude, feeling frothier than ever before.
Ride the waves. Fall off of them. Learn from them. Listen to the ocean with your heart, and let it guide you to the shores you are destined for.
And every once in a while, take a moment to feel the warmth of the sun on your face, the taste of salt on your lips, and the coolness of a gentle breeze. We’re here to ride the waves, but we’re here to enjoy them, too.
Fair winds and following seas, my friends. May our boards carry us to the greatest of all shores, and may we relish in the joy of this existence together.
