The Shoreline of the Soul
There comes a season in life when the noise of ambition fades, and the heart begins to listen for gentler things. I once lived as a workhorse for the clock, trading my hours for a dream of “someday.” Someday I will rest. Someday I would wander. Someday I would watch the sun shimmer upon still waters.
But “someday” is not given. It is built, breath by breath.
Now, in the quiet of an afternoon, I sit by the shoreline where my small home on wheels rests. The lake stretches before me, a mirror for the sky. Weekend fishermen skim across its surface in their boats, chasing leisure before Monday calls them back to the grind. I watch them and wonder if they know how fleeting their freedom is, how precious the hours they hold.
For years, I gathered my own days like coins in a jar, waiting for the right time to spend them. In doing so, I missed some chances I cannot reclaim, campfires with family, wind in the sails on summer waters. The past carries a certain ache, and I have learned not to dwell too long in its shadows.
Retirement brought me solitude. There were moments I stood in God’s creation, aching for someone to share it with. My prayers for companionship rose like incense on still mornings.
And then, in His perfect timing, the answer arrived. Kathleen, a fellow traveler and photographer, came into my life. Together, we wander. Together, we pause to notice the way light brushes the water, the way the wind dances through the leaves. Together, we capture the silent sermons written in the landscape. The sermons of God’s love, abundance, and care.
Today, the wind shifts, and the lake stills, as if Heaven itself whispers: Be here now. The sun lays its warmth upon my shoulders, and I feel it reach deeper than skin, into the soul where peace has been waiting all along.
This, I have learned: beauty is not only in the grand vistas but in the presence, we bring to them. God has woven His love into every ripple, every breeze, every beam of sunlight. All that is asked of us is to notice, to receive, and to give thanks.
So, I invite you. Whether you stand at a mountain’s edge, sit by a quiet shore, or simply gaze out your own window, pause. Let the moment settle into you. For in the stillness, beauty speaks, and in beauty, God is always near.