Lessons from the Sea: How to Move from Depleted to Full

Depleted to Full

We’re currently staying in a little cove that looks out at the sea. Once a day at low tide the cove is completely drained, water pulled out into the ocean, muddy, pocked sand exposed.

Our little cove cannot try and wish with all its might to be filled again, but it’s the ocean that comes and refills it till waves return, lapping up on our rocks. The seals and crabs swim back in.

I’ve seen that drained cove everyday and oh how I know the feeling, depleted and empty. It’s only with the power of another that it’s filled.

That is how I have come to know true strength over the last years of depletion and weakness. I’ve found the strength that sustains comes when I’m dependent and surrendered to the external power- that ocean of love that fills me up more fully and truly than any amount of willpower or self-reliance.

I don’t have what it takes to conjure up the kind of strength I need to perform the work before me with patience and love and grace, but when I’m weak that’s when God’s strength moves faithfully in full force and fills again.
(above from a 2021 journal)

Verses for Peace

Scripture has sustained me through particularly tumultuous seasons. Focused time early in the quiet morning has been vital. I truly believe staying daily rooted in God’s Word is the key to living my very best, most fulfilling days. Here are a few verses that have been constant companions during those trying seasons:

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. John 14:27

…we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, 4 and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, 5 and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. Romans 5: 3-5

Your unfailing love, O LORD, is as vast as the heavens; your faithfulness reaches beyond the clouds. Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains, Your justice like the ocean depths. You care for people and animals alike, O LORD. How precious is Your unfailing love, O God! All humanity finds shelter in the shadow of Your wings. Psalm 36:5-7

I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the LORD never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness; His mercies begin afresh each morning. Lamentations 3:20-23

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:4-7

In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety. Psalm 4:8

“...I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. 4 In him was life, and the life was the light of men. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:3-5

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all art by Katy Rose

Letter from London

As a great lover of history, especially survival stories from the past, I like to imagine myself as the type of person who would persevere under trial, who could outwit a difficult circumstance, or be clever enough to endure in the midst of it. But judging by how I reacted when faced with no phone for four hours in an airport makes me think that perhaps I am not such a person.

As my plane descends over the outskirts of London, past green land and hedgerows, I think, romantically, coming to England strangely feels like coming home. 

It is all perfectly dreamy from the air. However, upon landing, bleary-eyed from the overnight flight, I find my phone won’t work despite my pre-planning. My mother and sisters land in a few hours and I had intended to make my way into the city to find a cozy coffee shop to wait with my new book, My Love Affair with England, by Susan Allen Toth. Bliss. 

But now with no phone, what actually happens is I sit anxiously in a poorly lit baggage claim area (no coffee or snacks to be found) scanning the arriving passengers for familiar faces, praying that I would happen to see them amongst the thousands of people pouring through. Near their arrival time, I consult an attendant and realize they will probably be landing at an entirely different terminal. I wrangle my baggage and run through halls, up escalators, and onto a train bound for Terminal 3.

Once there, I find a chair directly facing the doors from which they will exit (I hope) and, after catching my breath, open my bag to pull out My Love Affair with England, determined to redeem the wasted hours. It is now I find that I have left my book on the plane. 

So, I just sit, head throbbing, heart racing, stomach rumbling, planning what I will do if I don’t ever find my family and never get phone or internet access. (Turns out there are several attainable options, but the part of my brain that is supposed to see me heroically through disasters is inaccessible at the moment).

I try to pull myself together with thoughts of immigrants and refugees who arrive in foreign lands without food, connections, or the ability to communicate. (People with actual problems, you might be thinking.) A line comes to mind from a sermon my husband gave a few years before. He was talking about the role of the Holy Spirit—the Helper, or Comforter— and how we cushion so much of our life that we rarely feel that need, and can miss out on seeing God work. I’m struck by how padded my life is.

I did not leave my journal on the plane, and while I don’t feel I can conjure the mental strength to write, it seems better than staring. I get out my pen and, eyes darting between page and door, recount the events since landing. Within five minutes I detour away from my path toward meltdown, incidentally bolstering the scientific research: journaling enhances mental health, increases self-awareness (or, when one is perhaps being overly dramatic), and helps make sense of life events. 

Another hungry hour passes and finally, I see those three beautiful faces pass through the steel doorframe and I holler before they can get carried away by the crowd. I run toward them and we embrace and my sister buys me coffee and I know the trip can only get better from here. 

An old journal entry I recently found describes London through my teenage eyes. It was my first time to visit and I was 13.

“It is awesome! Probably the coolest place I’ve ever been in my whole life!” 

“We all ran to catch a tour bus… It was so cool. We saw so much stuff like the whole city! We got hot dogs and ate them in the park next to Buckingham Palace!”

According to my journal, after spending a couple days seeing all the sights (like the whole city!), we missed our boat to France but ended up with a better option– an overnight crossing that reminded me of the Titanic, one of my childhood passions. 

“The awesome thing was that we sailed away just a few miles from where the Titanic took off and then we went on the same path that it would have sailed on! I thought that was amazing. Almost the whole time I was on it, I was listening to the Titanic soundtrack. It was really neat.”

I’ve never once made an international trip, or any trip for that matter, without several miss-steps and unexpected turn-of-events. But what I have found is that, while extremely uncomfortable in the moment, these are often the stories that are canonized with fondness. Even if an entire trip was riddled with mishaps, we usually look back and recount it with complete delight, at least in my family. Maybe that’s just us, or maybe that’s what’s so great about traveling. The wonder of new discoveries outweighs the inconveniences and discomfort, and we want to go back and do it all over again.

I think it’s marvelous.

A quick rundown of favorites fRom April’s Trip:

Staying in South Kensington and walking its charming streets

Afternoon tea at Dalloway Terrace

Covent Gardens & Seven Dials neighborhoods

Walks through Kensington, stopping for fish and chips at The Mall Tavern, on to Notting Hill

Notting Hill Bookshop, Portobello Rd market

Tea at the Ritz Hotel

SIX, the musical

Kensington Palace and Hyde Park

Buckingham Palace and gift shop

Mayfair Chippy fish and chips eaten in Brown Hart Garden

Ice cream and browsing Fortnum & Mason

Big Ben, Westminster Abbey

Little India, Tikka Masala and naan

Lots of stops for coffee and pastries

Best of all was sitting, chatting, and laughing

with my sisters, mom, waiters and shopkeepers all over the city. What a gift!

Postcards Home

Dear Children,

I made it here to West Virginia! My friend picked me up at the airport in Charlotte, NC, and we began the three hour journey north to Bluefield for the conference. We were having so much fun chatting over lunch, though, that we accidentally missed our first event!

I’ve never visited this part of the country before but it’s happily very much what I imagined, and reminds me of the picture books we’ve always read, When I Was Young in the Mountains and The Relatives Came.

I love you,

Mom

Dear Children,

West Virginia has tree-covered hills with blue mountains behind, but not the rigid mountains like we see in Colorado, but softer. Tucked into the hillsides, as if embraced in a hug, are small towns, old and some a bit rough around the edges, but just bursting with history. 

We are staying in the town of Bramwell a few miles outside Bluefield, where the conference is being held. Bramwell’s town sign reads “Home of Millionaires” which was true 100 years ago, but perhaps not today. The house my friends and I are staying in must have been one of the wealthy family’s homes as it sits perched on a hill overlooking the little mainstreet. 

I love you,

Mom

Dear Children,

We checked in to our house and snooped around a minute. I was given a choice of rooms but went for the least preferable- small with no bathroom- which will not surprise you as its windows overlooked the town and there was so much “scope for the imagination.” (Anne of Green Gables)

It will also not surprise you to hear I did a small bit of rearranging (put the stuffed monkey and faded fake flowers in the closet) and opened all the blinds, and then sat down to write you this postcard and read a little on the history of the town. 

I love you,

Mom

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Dear Children,

Bramwell, population 220, was founded around 1880 with the boom of coal mining and soon became the US city with the most millionaires per capita. It has the look of a classic small town: train station, steeples, ice cream shop on Main, and Victorian homes along a brick-paved street. 

While reading, I happened upon articles on Anne Spencer, a renowned poet who moved here as a young girl because it was a welcoming place for black people. Her mother did not find the schools suitable for her daughter and Anne was free to roam around town and explore, and apparently learned to read from the Sears and Roebuck catalog in her outhouse. Later on, she and her husband became important members in the civil rights movement and hosted greats like George Washington Carver, Langston Hughes, and Martin Luther King Jr. 

It was time for a walk through town so I put away my reading and we headed outside. I looked to the right and there before me was a small footbridge crossing the river, and a sign which read “Anne Spencer bridge.” I know you can imagine my delight at this. Apparently she would run right this way on her explorations. Charming.

I love you,

Mom

Dear Children,

We strolled the brick main street past the train station, the First Presbyterian church, the bank, and the named houses. We stopped at the Honeybee Cafe and left with coffees and slices of lemon loaf. 

It was time to head back to Bluefield, about 15 minutes away, for the HopeWords conference. 

I’d like to adequately describe this conference and the way I can best think to describe it is like being at my grandparent’s house during the holidays as a girl. Homey, unpretentious, dated in the most comforting way. Baked goodies and warm drinks were set out, prepared by the ladies of the Episcopal church (here, not at my grandma’s). Chatter, laughter, peace. Like someone prepared for you and everything is taken care of. 

I love you,

Mom

Dear Children,

You know how we talk about pushing back the darkness with light? How light is stronger than the dark? Well, today I got to hear from writers who are doing that with their words. They are using their gifts to bless others and love God.

Remember how I told you I would get to hear from the author of Bridge to Terbithia and The Great Gilly Hopkins, Katherine Paterson? Wow! She’s 90 years old and wise and witty. Remind me to tell you what she said about Maime Trotter and God.

You know the author of The Green Ember, S.D. Smith? You will be happy to know he used to play soccer. He also said this: “Love and service are better than fame and self-expression.”

I love you,

Mom

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Dear Children,

You know Miss Ann, who wrote Your Brave Song (and the other books I love)? She talked about the woman at the well and how brokenness is beautiful Jesus. (Jesus isn’t scared of our mistakes or our struggles. He comes close to us.)

It made me think right then that I wanted to remind you how much Jesus loves you, no matter what. 

You know how we talk so often about continuing to practice and pratice to improve at something, and not giving up in the beginning just because we might not do well immediately? Well this was a great speaker named Esau McCaulley who said lots of fantastic things, but I thought of you (and me) when he said, “You have to be a bad writer first!”

You will also be delighted to know I ate a cookie, ice cream, and chocolate candy today. I spent time with a friend who I hadn’t seen in 13 years, sat next to completely new friends at dinner, and got to know a few friends better than I did before. It all felt like a gift to me. 

I love you and can’t wait to see you soon,

Mom