The moon has never once touched the sea. All it does is pull — and the sea, faithfully, follows. Even while the world sleeps, the tide keeps moving. Nothing tells it to. Nothing has to. It's just wonderfully, perpetually in motion. There is something special here — something wondrous about the magnetic pull between moon and ocean, never ceasing, like the tide itself. Motion amongst the stillness. I believe mercy works the same way — pulling on us from somewhere we cannot see, asking nothing. never once needing to touch us directly to move us completely. I have felt this pull countless times. Most often it is by the water, but I find the feeling distinct at night. This is because I see mercy like light. It is everywhere. Holding everything. And without it, the world would be unbearably dark. Even as we sleep, this reality is fixed. Mercy has a constancy to its rhythms, like all of nature. What I have recently recognized, though, is how the depths of the night sky actually enhance light. We cannot comprehend light without darkness to contrast it. The night sky does not detract from light — it complements it. I recognized this truth again recently, watching the starlit ocean. Stars are miraculous in their own way, too. Starlight is old before it ever reaches us. Some of it left its source before I was born. It can take years, even centuries, to arrive. The moon and stars have been pulling at the tides just as mercy has been pulling at us — since long before we existed to feel it. This reaffirms my belief that some truths were never new at all. They were simply waiting for us to be born into them. Midnight Tide is a personal reminder for me — that even when I cannot see, when the darkness is thick, mercy and light are there, pulling me to look up, to find flickers of this ancient truth still sparkling in the sky.
Related
Related
Related
Related