Thoughts On A Given Day

I would like to share a passage from my novel, A Sound Of Distant Thunder, which is set during the last year of the Civil War as it was fought in Virginia.

 

When they reached the beach, John walked up to the water’s edge and sat down. Taylor sat down beside him.

“You know, I had never been to the coast before, not until we were taken on board the ship that brought us here. It just never appealed to me for some reason. I guess I was always too busy to take the time out from my work. But I suppose if I’m to find anything good in this whole mess, it’s that I’ve seen the coast now. I realize this bay is not quite the ocean, but it’s pretty close, I reckon.”

He paused a few seconds before he continued.

“There’s something powerful here, Taylor. Have you felt it?”

“I’m not sure,” answered Taylor, puzzled by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I noticed it right away. I guess it’s all that water. I just never realized there was such an awesomeness about water before. I mean, at home we’ve got the Appomattox, and I always knew it had some force to it. But not like this. I can sit here and look out across that bay, and not see anything except water. There’s just so much of it that it boggles my mind. And the Potomac flows into the bay right here, and it just becomes part of the bay and part of the ocean. I believe there’s something alive about this much water. It scares me. I guess I’d never make a good sailor.”

“Taylor, I know you believe in God,” continued John, “and you’ve told me that most of the time churches don’t appeal to you that much. Is there something, or someplace other than a church that makes you feel especially touched by God’s presence? Does that question make sense?”

“Yes, it makes sense. I know what you mean, because I do feel closer to God sometimes than I do at other times. I don’t mean that sometimes I worship God less, although that’s true. But I think that’s true for everyone. For me, I can feel God’s presence the most when I’m all alone at night and the sky is clear, and the stars are all out. There’s something about a starlit night that makes me feel so small, so insignificant, and at those times I can sense God the most. It’s like he’s just about to reach right out and touch me on the shoulder. How about you, John?”

“I’ve felt the same as you,” John said thoughtfully. “There is something about a starry night that makes God seem more real, more present. But for me, I feel it the most right here. It might be even better at the actual sea coast, I don’t know.”

“Why here?” Taylor asked, a little surprised by his disclosure.

“The ocean is the most powerful force I’ve ever seen. Being a Christian, I associate that with God. Sitting here looking out over that much water, that much potential force, makes me feel God’s realness more than I ever have before in my life. I don’t have the words to explain it any better than that.”

 

I do not remember exactly when I wrote this passage, because the writing of the book spanned some years, but I do know exactly when the reality of the presence of God being felt at the coast touched me. It was during my first summer working at Fort Caswell, the North Carolina Baptist Assembly. I have written before about my time at Caswell, and I am sure I will again, because my summers there impacted my life in a powerful way. My first two summers there I supervised the operation of the infirmary, and that created a certain amount of time for me to be alone. The time alone came because I had one other person working with me in the infirmary, and one of the two of us had to be there at all times except during meals. The way we chose to handle that situation was in alternating shifts. One would stay there from breakfast until lunch. The other would stay there from lunch to supper, and the first would be back again during the evening after supper. That meant that every weekday I had either a morning or an afternoon to myself. The other summer staff members were usually working at their respective jobs during my free mornings, and the visitors to the assembly always had planned sessions during the morning, so I most commonly went to the beach and walked. My intent was not to get close to God during those walks. My intent was to enjoy the coast, look for shells (in those days, before the last hurricane hit the area, and before the dredging of the waterway took place, there were a tremendous number of whelk shells at Caswell, usually best found just inside the waterline at extreme low tide when the moon was full), and to enjoy the solitude of the shoreline. God had other plans for me. He often does.

Caswell’s beach is somewhat unique. It is situated at one end of Oak Island at the tip of a peninsula that is bordered by the Atlantic Ocean on one side and the Cape Fear River on the other. Being situated at the end of the peninsula as it is, and being a private beach, it was usually peaceful and a place of quiet solitude when I walked there during the morning. In reality, many mornings I found myself not sharing the beach with another soul. I have to pause and ask, where else could you find such a place? The proximity of the river created a somewhat dangerous tide situation at Caswell, so the only place people were allowed to swim was at the most inland portion of the beach, almost to the assembly property line, next to the public section of Caswell Beach. This added to the privacy of the walk toward the tip of the peninsula, which was always the path I chose to take.

I did not take those walks to seek God, but during those walks I began to feel his presence, and he spoke to me, not in words I could hear audibly, but he spoke in no uncertain terms nevertheless, helping me to know his will for my life. Our spirit will often hear what our ears cannot. Paul said in his letter to the Romans that the spirit provides intercession for us with God when we ourselves do not know what to say. Sometimes we just need to get to someplace quiet, away from the noise, away from the hustle and bustle of daily life, so that we can hear God speaking. That was what Caswell’s beach was for me – as quiet a sanctuary as I could have asked for, had I but known to ask. I didn’t know, but God knew what I needed in spite of my own lack of understanding. In 1 Kings were are told that God spoke to Elijah in a quiet, gentle voice. Elijah heard him, but God had to get him to that quiet place before he could hear him. God did the same with me, speaking to me in the quiet of longs walks on the beach at Caswell – alone, but not alone.

 

Romans 8:26-27

New American Standard Bible (NASB)

²⁶ In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words; ²⁷ and He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

Job 32:8

New International Version (NIV)

⁸ It is the spirit in a person, the breath of the Almighty, that gives them understanding.

1 Kings 19:11-12

Easy-to-Read Version (ERV)

¹¹ Then the Lord said to Elijah, “Go, stand in front of me on the mountain. I, the Lord, will pass by you.” Then a very strong wind blew. The wind caused the mountains to break apart. It broke large rocks in front of the Lord. But that wind was not the Lord. After that wind, there was an earthquake. But that earthquake was not the Lord. ¹² After the earthquake, there was a fire. But that fire was not the Lord. After the fire, there was a quiet, gentle voice.¹³ When Elijah heard the voice, he used his coat to cover his face and went to the entrance to the cave and stood there. Then a voice [spoke] to him.