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One of my favorite places to visit when I lived in Cape Town
was Blouberg Strand. Most of the iconic photos of Cape Town have been taken
from here as you look across the bay onto the table like profile of Table
Mountain with its cloth of cloud hanging over the side. The beach is wide and
you can sit there wriggling your toes in the warm soft sand watching the
seagulls scrapping for food and listening to the waves as they roll in and
crash upon the beach. As the smell of seaweed wafts by and the seagulls screech
overhead, the waves mesmerize you rolling in and sucking back. I found there was something very healing just
sitting watching the waves meditating on the timelessness of the ocean. It has
been there from the beginning of Creation, the Spirit of God hovered over the
surface of the waters before there was light. God “laid the earth’s foundation
on the seas and built it on the ocean depths, He assigned the sea its
boundaries and locked the oceans in vast reservoirs.”
My move to Cape Town was several years after my divorce
where I had to make a new life for the children and I. It was a beautiful place
to make a new start and we would go down to the beach quite often. I enjoyed
living at the sea after having lived inland for most of my life. That time of
rest at the beach from the hard work of being a single parent used to refresh
me as the children enjoyed playing in the sand at the water’s edge. In winter
it was a different scene when gale force winds would whip up the foam and the
sea became an angry and seething mass of waves crashing onto the beach bringing
up flotsam from the ocean floor. Occasionally the tide would rise so high it
crossed the boardwalk onto the road and I was reminded that the Lord “defines
the ocean’s sandy shoreline as an everlasting boundary that the waters cannot
cross. The waves may toss and roar, but they can never pass the boundaries I
set.”
Years later after moving countries and I was in a serious
condition with pneumonia and could not travel to visit my daughter for a
special birthday, I was reminded of this time at Blouberg and I did a painting
to comfort myself as my travel plans were cancelled, “All your waves and
billows have gone over me, and floods of sorrow pour upon me like a thundering
cataract.” I drew myself as a vulnerable tiny person held in God’s hand as the
waves washed over His hand protecting me. In the curl of the wave I drew a tree
representing Psalm 23, leading me besides still waters, that even though the
waves were billowing over me, I could still find the peace.
Sometimes we may have to navigate more than one transition
at a time, suffering a loss and having to relocate at the same time. This can certainly put a strain on you as you
work through grief and starting a new life somewhere else. At times life may
just throw you a curved ball on top of this and you feel overwhelmed with the
difficulties as they seem to roll in one after another in waves. That was
certainly how I felt at that time. But
it was having imprinted on my memory the happy and beautiful times of sitting
on Blouberg Beach, that I could make this a place of refuge in my mind. I would
repeat The Lord is my Shepherd to myself and imagine I was sitting on the beach
with the Lord beside me and knowing He had set a boundary for the sea, He also
had set a boundary on my trials, the psalmist said “Give your burdens to the
Lord. He will carry them. He will not permit the godly to slip or fall” and
again, “He reached down from heaven and took me and drew me out of my great
trials. He rescued me from deep waters.” Yes, I missed my daughter’s birthday,
but I recovered my health and was able to visit another time. I was
disappointed, but I was given the grace and the strength to see that trial
through and my painting has encouraged others too when they have felt
overwhelmed by the billows of life crashing over them.
Family stories are, perhaps, our own memorial stones. They remind us of who we are. They steady us when life becomes uncertain. And they help us understand that history is never merely something behind us; it continues to live quietly within us.
We are not separate from the past; we are shaped by it. The lives of those who came before us have influenced the world we now inhabit, just as our own lives will influence those who come after.
History is often described as the story of power, how it rises, shifts, and reshapes societies. Yet power does not move only through governments and armies. It moves quietly through families, through the opportunities and losses that shape the paths of individual lives. When we tell these stories, we remember that history is not distant or abstract. It is personal.
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