In the past couple of weeks, we’ve been spending a lot of time near and in the sea. Last week, we went out on the Renegade with Big Beard’s Tours for a day at Buck Island (our fourth trip with them – awesome!), I’ve snorkeled around the Frederiksted Pier, the coral at Frederiksted City Beach, and searched for chaney and sea glass along the shoreline. (Thankfully, I have a great little camera that will allow me to share a little of what I’ve seen.) I love the sounds of the sea, the feel of the salt in the air and the soft grit of sand on my feet. I marvel at the hundreds of shades of blues and greens from sky and surf. I love watching pelicans do loop-de-loops that end in a ‘boosh’ as they hit the water, diving for fish. The water isn’t just warm, it is soft and inviting. It feels silky against my skin.
Actually, when I’m snorkeling, I feel like I’m flying, weightless and without restraints above an exotic and foreign world. The moment I enter the water is always a surprise. I’m standing, usually about thigh-deep, adjusting my mask and sliding on fins. The world is ‘normal’, familiar. The breeze ruffles my hair and the sun glints off the surface – since my sunglasses have been left behind in favor of a mask, I squint a little in the glare. Then, with the mouthpiece now in place, I bend over a bit, take a breath and slide in. Most of the time there are fish darting within arm’s length. Small, tiger striped ones, or neon blue headed wrasses. They’ve been there all the time but I couldn’t see them until my head was in the water. I kick out a little. Now the only sound I hear is my own breathing. As I adjust to my new world, the rushing sound that is my breath slows and begins to mimic the rhythm of the waves, the sea, life.
Now I am somewhere magical. Even if the scene beneath me is clean sand there are wonders to explore. A shell, a tiny school of fish, a shiny black sea urchin making a trail in the sand as it makes its slow trek. I like the coral beds best. Brightly colored brain coral hosts a forest of Christmas tree worms, a crab scuttles beneath a dust colored rock, a piece of sea glass adds its bright green to the scene. Coral that looks like a Dr. Seuss creation stands still as a sea fan beside it slowly waves back and forth.
And of course, the fish. Tiny and large, beautiful and ugly, colorful and plain. Some are loners, swimming solitary and content. Schools of nearly transparent fish hurry past and then I watch as a yellow striped group ride the current in and out from under a rock ledge. Some swim close to me, unafraid and uncaring, others dart quickly away or into a crevice in a rock when I approach. Something catches my eye beside me and I smile to see a needlefish swimming beside me, as curious about me as I am of him. I nearly miss seeing the flounder right beneath me, he looks so much like the rock. Sometimes the sea reveals to me special gifts – two turtles, one hawksbill and one green, swam beneath me last week. A barracuda slid by me at the pier, uninterested in me but even so making my heart quicken a bit. Even more rarely, a ray, an eel, squid, jelly fish.
Mostly when I am snorkeling, my mind is so busy absorbing the wonder and beauty there is no room for thought. But invariably, at some point, the magnificence of this world I am able to get a glimpse of and be a small part of brings me to wordless prayer. The character and power of God are so apparent as I witness the detail and variety. The sheer grandeur of His creativity calls to my soul and I feel Him caress me, just as the warm sea water does, and I, for one small moment, am finally able to touch Him and feel Him touch me. I am still. I know He is God.
