In the Red Sea

On day one,
the waves are crushing
suffocating
devastating.
Again.
Again, I’m barely alive
and surrounded by death.
I’m drowning
and left to clean up the carnage
all by myself.

On day five,
a raft floats by.
I swim to it
and find some relief.
I can breathe again.
I can rest.

On day ten,
hope is alive.
The sun shines above,
and I think,
“This is it.”

On day fifteen,
I shrug my shoulders
and bow my head.
“I did my part…
now it’s Your turn.”

On day twenty,
I’m seasick.
Stomach churning,
head swirling.
Overanalyzing every wave,
every ripple,
every bubble.
Is that land?
Is that life?

On day twenty-five,
I am done.
I have hope,
and I have no hope.
I am sure this is it,
and I am sure this is not.
I just want to know.
I just want this to end.
I’m desperate for relief
from the not-knowing.

And then a breeze.
And then a howling wind.
And then another surge and swell.
And then I’m crushed again
in the Red Sea.

But as much as it hurts
to be crushed
over and over again,
there is always hope,
in the Red Sea.
It’s where You do
what has never been done before.

The Red Sea,
where death seems certain.
Death behind
and death before.
Inevitable.
Inescapable.

But then a breeze.
And then a howling wind.
And the waves don’t crash and crush.
They part.
Seemingly certain death
is nothing to You.

I know who You are.
I know what You do.
Life.
You create it.
You give it.
You sustain it.
You resurrect it.
With You,
death is never the end.

Until the waters part,
there is always hope,
in the Red Sea.