I sat in front of the Atlantic Ocean today. Something deep inside urged me to sit and contemplate it.
To be there, right at that moment.
At first, all I saw were waves. They were crashing down, each one more spectacular than the last.
He's putting on a show for me.
I watched as the waves rode the water, gliding over it ever so gracefully. I watched as each wave dressed itself with white suds, like a bride, and bowed down passionately like the crashing of cymbals.
He's showing me how sacred I am to Him.
I could hear Him whisper in my heart, "Come and sit with me."
I sat. I watched, in silent reverence at what looked, to me, an ocean, wide, far and never-ending.
"That is My love for you," He whispered.
As I sat there, taking in the orchestra of waves and currents, I felt Him besides me, taking it all in with me.
As the sun warmed my back, I closed my eyes and let Him take me away to a place I needed to be.
I submitted myself to that moment.
How difficult, this idea of submission. Many of us see it as a sign of weakness, a lose of self-dignity, self-respect.
Many don't see the triumph in letting go.
Receiving the betrayal kiss was an act of submission. Going through trial and all that questioning was an act of submission. The flogging, the ridicule, the torture, they too were acts of submission. The exposure, the abandonment, even the nails, all acts of submission.
Does submission mean weakness?
Submission is an act of love, because to love means to give over your heart, your body, your soul.
For Him, to love meant to die.
The cross is His "l love you."
I am letting go of me and handing it all over to Him.
Keep my life, for I am devoted to you.