Erosion and Survival

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THE storm approaches the coast in a rush of blackened violence.  The waves begin to dance, to rise and fall, rushing downwards again in a white flurry of agitation.  The rock waits; cooly, collected.  It has no fear; it is solid, unmoving.  Maybe too fearless, for the water strikes with a violence which the rocks have never before felt or seen.

Wave after leaping wave rise upwards and leap down, in a horrendous hiss of anger.  Like ancient green knights upon great white flowing steeds.  Leap, fall.  Their sharp swords glinting with lightning.  With thunderous crash upon thunderous crash, they maintain their campaign against logic.  The algorithms of Chaos, a vendeta of thought.  Yet logic halts their advances with a sheer wall of reason.

But patience is a virtue, and Chaos pushes its advantage of numbers.  Spray is thrown up and above the great rough terraces, soaking them with a fine mist that finds its way into the cracks and weaknessess. Its salt burns within the wounds, widening them slowly and surely.  The air reverberates with a deep bass thrumm as the assualt continues,  Chaos sensing the approach of the scent of victory.  Underneath the rising creshendo a plaintive cry swells, at first masked by the bass, but then clearly heard.  The sound of pain, of rock breaking, its structure collapsing under the continued impacts  and the insidous mists.

High up, a point crumbles like chalk and falls with a groan, plunging downwards and dispelling the  milling forces below it in a great rush.   The rock aches,  its outline changing as stress and continued pressure force it into new formations.   But even as the rock is changed, yet it stands steady,  its foundations rebutting all attempts that water devises.    And while the rock aches for what it was, and for what it has lost, the rock becomes aquainted with what it has become,  and becomes what it is aquainted with.

And still it defies the rushing waves.  And soon the storm passes, the water falls back in confused retreat to nurse their wounded pride and purpose.  And the rock stands.  It aches, but yet stays strong.  And light pierces the dark, and dries the sea from its form, and while the salt remains, it has no power.  And eventually, rain comes and washes it away.

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This is life.  Your life and my life.  All of our lives.  Chaos threatens us again and again.  Life seems to rush over us and we have to pull ourselves up and out, gasping for breath.  And though we know that God is forming us, changing us,  we have a hard time making sense of it.  It hurts, a lot.  It makes no sense from our perspective generally.  The important thing to remember is that you need to keep your foundation, and accept the changes as they come.  (Unless they are really harmful to yourself, obviously. Like if you started smoking.  You shouldn't just say that you're accepting yourself.) See the flaws, ask God to work through them.  Know that what you've lost is important, and that it was part of you, but don't lose yourself along with it.

Recognize who you are now.  Cause who you were then is different.  And if you focus on who you were then, you won't notice how you've changed, and what needs work right now.

And if you've read this far, you're incredible and you can pat yourself on the back for your perseverance.