Holy Ground

Familiar sounds. Familiar smells. I gaze out to infinity.

And the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush. He looked, and behold, the bush was burning, yet it was not consumed. And Moses said, “I will turn aside to see this great sight, why the bush is not burned.” When the Lord saw that he turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.” Then he said, “Do not come near; take your sandals off your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” —Exodus 3:2-5

It's a quiet Saturday on the coast of Southern California, and a sunny beach day is our gift to the visiting inlaws. The kids dance with delight in the shallowest fingers of the waves, their shovels and buckets abandoned before me. I am charged with guarding the blanket, which is my own delight. My black yoga pants draw in the sun and its warmth prickles my skin, the ocean breeze a balancing cool on my face. Familiar sounds. Familiar smells. I gaze out to infinity.

Having lived near the beach for over a decade, its familiar offerings have become a sort of personal retreat. It has been a quiet study break and an escape from the pressure of work. It has been home to bonfires and Fourth of July celebrations, a place for growing community and becoming family. Now, as a mom, I've traded a bikini for these yoga pants and sunning for spilling sand into bucket and back again. And over time, somehow, it has become a sacred place.

I love the way the sand feels squishing between my toes and spilling through my fingers as I study its complex anatomy. I relish warming in the sun like a snake upon a rock and dancing among the waves so that the water won't catch my clothes. On a rare occasion these days, I love to dive right in and float beyond the wave break, to tread and swim to exhaustion, then warm again in the sun while the sand and salt curl my hair into wild abandon. But most of all, I love looking out into the vast horizon and feeling perfectly small. The beach is one of those rare places where I'm not tempted by the twitch of my phone, where it is finally quiet enough.

Moses and other Old Testament saints had unique and pointed experiences as they encountered an awesome and holy God. But on this side of the cross, we Christians carry the Holy Spirit of God around with us. We don't need holy places like temples or burning bushes to seek and find God. In Christ, He is with us always. And yet, I don't feel the presence or power of the Spirit amid the distractions and responsibilities of my everyday. I can't always hear above the cacophony, so I need these holy places, a bit of the sacred among someone else's norm, a place where it is finally quiet and I am finally small enough to listen.