The ocean is still free. So I said to myself this past weekend while spending a few days on the shores of the Atlantic.
The ocean is still free. Free to roam. Free to breathe. Free to birth. Free to be.
Mankind has tried to control it, has sloppily put its fingerprints into it, but mankind has been unable to stop it. Freely the tide rolls in; freely it retracts. The ocean keeps a pace all its own, unwilling to cede ownership to anyone but its Creator. The ocean knows to Whom it belongs. The ocean remembers its beginning.
“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.” –Genesis 1:1-2
Beginning days. God, darkness, and deep waters. Indeed, the ocean remembers its beginning. Do you remember yours?
” —the LORD God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being. … But for Adam no suitable helper was found. So the LORD God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man’s ribs and closed up the place with flesh. Then the LORD God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man. The man said, ‘This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called woman, for she was taken out of man.’ For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.” –Genesis 2:7, 20-25
Beginning days. God, dust, breath, man.
Beginning days. God, man, rib, woman.
Beginning days. God, man, woman, one flesh.
a beautiful momen to watch taking place… just God, the preacher, man, woman, and a couple of curious on-lookers
Life was simpler back then, in those beginning days. Life was perfect. Life was, as God meant for it to be.
But then, life changed. Less perfect. Less edenic. Confused and greatly burdened by sin’s curse. Somewhere between those beginning days and these days… our days, life got very messy and our remembrances of Eden mostly forgotten. And when Eden is forgotten—when beginning understanding and truth are traded in for modern day theory—then our nakedness no longer matters. We no longer notice it; instead, we’re hell-bent on exposing it… all in the name of personal freedom.
But this isn’t freedom, friends. This is bondage. This is being chained to our flesh, and this is when we find ourselves in grave danger of missing the great point of our lives—to surrender our flesh over to faith and back into the hands of the One who created it… in the beginning. To not allow our flesh to master us but, instead, to master our flesh through the blood-stained covering of Christ’s cross and through the transformational work of the Holy Spirit’s willing presence and power in our lives. This is freedom… God’s way. This is why the ocean is still free. The ocean is still willing to let God be in control.
The ocean is still free because the ocean has not forgotten its beginning. We would do well not to forget ours.
I love my husband. He speaks life into my weariness and watches over my heart as if it were his own. When the crumbling begins, he comes alongside me to tenderly cradle my pain and to keep it safe from further intrusion. I cannot measure the worthiness of such a gift. Over the course of our marriage, even well before we said our “I do’s,” my Billy was loving me the Jesus way—the Ephesians 5:25way. Without his protection and his careful attention to the details of the “all” that makes up me, I’d be off-balance and more confused. I’d be lesser of a woman, lesser of God’s woman, and I would be lonely. Thank God for the good sense that fostered my saying, “I do” nearly fifteen years ago. Thank God for the current emotions that have finally caught up to my reasoned decision back then.
Billy and I are in love. It’s an easy love these days, but this hasn’t always been the case. We’ve grown into our love, and today I thought it would be a worthy use of time (and ink) to reflect back on that day when I knew that I knew that I knew that I loved Billy Olsen. I thought maybe you’d like to come along for the ride.
The year was 1996. The autumn colors had just begun their descent onto the rolling hills of the Kentucky bluegrass. Soccer season was in full swing for my two young sons, adding to my burgeoning load as a single mother. My days were spent working at Asbury Theological Seminary; my nights spent managing the lives of my children. It was a good season of living for us, added to by the fact that a certain preacher-in-training had taken an interest in the three of us—a strong interest. At this point, Billy and I had been dating for several months. Early on, he professed his love for me; I, however, was a bit more cautious about declaring the intentions of my heart.
Until that day.
A call came into my office in the morning. Billy was checking on me and interested in seeing what our evening plans might include. Soccer and grocery shopping ranked high on the agenda. This wouldn’t be a good date night. Too much to do; too many responsibilities pressing their urgency into an already full schedule. There would be no wining and dining for us that evening. Just more of Billy living with the realities of dating a single mom. Romance would have to wait, or so it seemed. Prior to finishing the work day, I received a second call from Billy.
“Elaine, I know tonight isn’t a good night for us to get together. I know how busy and how tired you are. I’m fine with that, but do me a favor before heading out to soccer practice. When you get home from work, be sure to look in the trunk of your car. I’ve put a little surprise in there for you.”
I thanked him for his kindness and assured him of my cooperation. Billy was brilliant when it came to surprises. I, however, fell short of remembering to look for his that particular day. The afternoon routine quickly moved in and any prior anticipation about the contents of my trunk was buried beneath homework, soccer cleats, and the gathering of grocery coupons. It was only after my sons and I were buckled into the car and had begun our descent down the driveway that I remembered my surprise. I thought about delaying its unveiling until we reached our destination, but fearing that the surprise might wilt or melt, I put the car in park.
“Boys, we’ve got to check something before we leave. Billy left me a surprise in the trunk, and I need to get it out before we leave for practice.”
The three of us unbuckled our seatbelts and made our way around to the trunk. What could it be? What had his love for me done for me this time around? What measure of romance could he cram into the back of my ’94 Nissan Sentra? Would it really be enough to move me past my hesitation of love’s declaration and closer to saying “yes” to a forever with this preacher-in-training?
It was enough to move me, friends.
When I opened up the trunk, there wasn’t a bouquet of flowers awaiting my collection. No chocolate in sight. Nothing I could wear; no perfume to sweeten me. In fact, most would say there was nothing romantic about the gift inside, but I would say differently. That particular day, Billy Olsen surprised me with a token of love that emphasized his willingness to take care of my boys and me.
He’d done my grocery shopping… packed my trunk with many of the non-perishables that he knew we used on a regular basis. From cereal to soap to laundry detergent and beyond. I couldn’t believe my eyes, and in that single moment, my heart swelled with love for a preacher-in-training named Billy Olsen. On that day, I thought to myself…
Billy Olsen may not have a job yet; his hair is long, he hates wearing shoes, and his clothes are always wrinkled. Granted, without knowing his heart, I probably wouldn’t pick him out of a line-up as future-husband material. But I’m pretty sure that his love for me will keep him doing these kinds of things for me for a long time. When I’m eighty, he’ll still be going to the grocery for me; he’s still going to watch over me, maybe even change my diapers if need be. Billy Olsen is the keeping kind. The real deal. He won’t let me down. He’s always going to love me and my boys, no matter the cost. Billy Olsen is here to stay.
Billy’s generosity that day had been the best kind of loving, sweetest kind of romance moment that I had ever been given. And here he is, some fifteen years later, loving and serving our marriage with the same level of genuine romance that was displayed on that autumn night during our courtin’ days. Billy still calls to check on me, goes to the grocery for me, and has (on occasion) had to lend a hand at cleaning me. I don’t mind telling you this, because I happen to think that I’ve snatched one of the last good, godly men left on this earth. If every man would love his wife this way—the way that Christ loves the church—then there would be far more women willing to love the same.
Billy and I share a good love. I probably could have survived with less, but God saw to it that I would flourish with more. Our love feels like life and grace and hope to my heart, and I’m so grateful that I get to wrap my arms around its tender comfort today.
And Billy… if you’re reading this… would you mind picking up some milk, eggs, butter, and a full box of encouragement on your way home? No one can stock a pantry… no man can strengthen a heart quite like you! I love you, my preacher-for-real.
~elaine When has someone filled your “trunk” with love? How might you do the same for someone else this week?
