It is almost always the ocean for me. When I need to hear from God, to quiet the swirl inside my head, I walk the shoreline barefoot. Sometimes I pray out loud. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I just breathe. There is something about the rhythm of the waves that untangles my thoughts and helps me find my footing again.

Shauna Niequist writes about a sacred ritual from her own story—sitting on her bed with the light slanting through the window, holding her Bible without reading it, just holding it like a cat, steady and comforting (Niequist, 2024, p. 10). Later, she found her own rhythm by walking to the beach each night at sunset, whispering prayers and learning to trust a quiet voice inside that said, “There’s room for you” (p. 11).I know that voice. I have heard it too, though sometimes only in fragments, in between the sounds of the dishwasher or the hush of the tide. Like her, I didn’t always feel like there was room for me in the faith I grew up with. I’ve asked the same questions. Not the theological ones, but the ache-filled ones. Can I belong here? Will I ever feel at home with God again? There is one particular spot on the beach—between a jetty and the lifeguard tower—where I go when I need to remember. It is where I feel the spark flicker back to life. Not a wildfire, not even a bonfire. Just a spark. But sometimes, that’s all it takes.

“I’m thankful for God’s constant flickering and sparking flame inside me… fighting to keep burning,” Shauna writes, and I believe that with my whole heart (p. 11). Because I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. In my darkest moments, when things unraveled, that tiny hope never went out.

So today, I am holding that spark with both hands. Tending it like something sacred. Because it is.

And I ask you:
What sacred space do you go to connect with God?
When have you felt the spark?

Gracefully yours,

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Reference
Niequist, S. (2024). Celebrate Every Day. Zondervan.