Under the Sparkle of Life
Sun on the Wave
Sun on the Wave
I am not much of an ocean person, but once, at dawn on a Florida beach, I saw sunlight pierce a rising wave and scatter through it like liquid glass. It lasted only seconds, yet it revealed something enduring: what looks fragile and fleeting is part of something vast. Like the old parable of the frightened wave, we mistake the breaking moment for the whole story, forgetting we belong to the ocean itself.
My years serving small prairie churches often felt like waves meeting rock—congregations shrinking, closing, changing beyond recognition. From the shore, that can look like failure. But faithfulness is not measured by the size of the wave; it is measured by belonging to the sea. Beneath visible losses, quieter currents persist: kindness, shared meals, growing children, steady friendships, the daily practice of hope. The music mirrors that layered motion—simple melody above, deeper voices moving underneath—until light returns. Not triumph, exactly. Continuance.
The sun on the wave.
