So I’m sitting on the boat with Karl. His friends Josh and Wade are hanging out with us tonight. I’ve had a long day at work—eleven hours to be exact—and it’s great to be out here now, the ocean breeze blowing across the boat, cold pizza in the stomach. My sister just called, my brother’s back in the country, heading to Boston soon. I’m exhausted, but happy.
The only thing I really have to write about is the phosphorescence. I’ve heard about phosphorescence before, but I’ve never really believed it before, that the water actually glows. It glows. There are things living in the water that glow. I don’t know how to adequately explain the wonder of this. Yesterday Karl rowed Wade and me around, and we watched the phosphorescence swirl around the oars. Occasionally I’d see glowing blue fish shoot away from the paddles, or little floating jellyfish that collected and glowed around the edge of the boat.
It’s like there’s energy in the water, and you can’t see it unless you’re out here, in the weather, in the wind, running your fingers through the water. God’s under there, showing Himself to us, underneath us all the time, if we only had the time to pay attention. He’s out here everywhere, trying to speak to us. We’re living outside again, where we belong, where you have to breathe deep of real air, real breath, where you can feel the Spirit of God moving over the water.
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