In perfect harmony, the tiny waves rushed over the cold, dampened sand that lined the shore. Shells and oh-so flat rocks, longing to be skip-p-p-ped mixed themselves in to the sand, a beige rainbow.
The water was cold, chilling to the touch. Every once in a while, against the uniformity, a large wave--which is really just a group of determined tiny waves working together--would come and spray the glossy blue water far past the markings of the daily high-tide.
Peter grabbed hold of a fishing net as he was so used to doing on early mornings like these, except this time it was to make room. With the others, like the tiny waves working together, they pushed their quaint boat off the shore. With a point in his brow, Peter turned in time to see his footprints in the sand- and then they were gone, washed over by a group of tiny blue waves.
Bobbing up and down, the fragile boat stewarded their heavy hearts well. Engulfed in fog, silence was over the surface of the deep. Subtle sounds of water meeting wood complimented the eerie rising sun that was barely visible off the surface of the water.
With sunshine of a new dawn glistening off their moistened and downtrodden faces, Peter watched them dream. Deep down, Peter dreamed himself awake, his imagination unrelenting. Aspirations of security and belonging and even purpose, he floated away. Anything but the mundane.
Eyelids cracked open, adrenaline pumped. Boat still bobbing up and down with the current of the waves, it seemed as if everything stood still. There He stood, or swam, or floated, upon the glassy blue border where hearts of stone sink. He radiated.
Though He stood stoic, calm, and confident, the crew of bobbing men sat doubtful, paralyzed. With a ghastly, unsure tone, Peter, of all men, spoke up. His whispers were nearly overshadowed by the still-crashing waves.
The water was cold, chilling to the touch. They stood on the glossy blue water, together, soles dampened.
He was floating on waves of security and belonging and purpose. Peter's cold, wet feet tell a story of faith louder than his mouth ever could.
