I had an excellent Biology teacher when I was in high school. She knew her subject matter thoroughly and she knew how to teach a bunch of otherwise rowdy 15- and 16-year-olds. Because I grew up along the coast of North Carolina, our local focus was on ecosystems peculiar to the salt marshes, barrier islands and bodies of salt water that surrounded us. These were areas of real importance to me; they were places I loved. One lesson from Biology class way back then has stuck with me: The coastline is always changing. Always. That simple fact has influenced tremendously what I look for, what I notice, and what I think will happen whenever I am on the coast.
Picture a coastal location you have visited: A lighthouse, a pier, a summer bungalow, a large resort. A place you know. If that spot, say, that lighthouse is indeed anywhere near the tidal line – where water fluctuates between low and high tides – its exact location the last time you saw it would not be its exact location today. Why? Because the ebb and flow of the tide is always changing the coastline. Sand is always being removed from one location and deposited in another. It cannot be stopped. Dredges may temporarily deepen channels that have grown too shallow by shifting sand for boat or ship traffic. Fishing piers at risk of falling into the ocean can be propped up by extra pilings. The foundations of lighthouses and beach houses can be sandbagged in hopes of thwarting their collapse. It might help for a while, but it will not stop what is happening beneath the surface of the water.
This constant change of sand being moved from one place and deposited somewhere else can seem imperceptible. It can go unnoticed for a long time if there is not some structure on or near the shore that alerts you to what is happening. High winds can accelerate the process; a beach you once loved to walk can be vastly changed after a hurricane, having grown much wider or much narrower in a short period of time. But more often, the shoreline changes gradually. You don’t see that the lighthouse has grown perilously close to the shore until suddenly you do see it – and it shocks you. Its location (in relation to the water), its viability and structural soundness have changed because the coastline surrounding it has changed.
Our lives are microcosms of what we see in the natural world, for we, too, are always changing, whether we personally see it or not. I am reminded of a good friend who often remarks to me that her husband does not like change. Every time she says that I think, “Who does?” The truth is we are always growing or dying, being eroded or being built up, widening or constricting as long as we are alive. We may not acknowledge this reality. We may try to wish it away, deny it, or say it does not matter. I told my son just a few days ago some difficult travel his father and I have been engaged in the past several months is “OK, no big deal” when it absolutely is not easy. It was a change we saw coming, something we took upon ourselves. We could not have been fully aware of how challenging it would be. Denying it does not make it less so. It only makes us unreachable, puts us at a remove from camaraderie, love and support. (E: I am sorry. You are right. This has been hard.)
There are, of course, changes we look forward to: the day our children quit wearing diapers, landing a big career move, finally paying off our student loans, etc. But I think, for most of us, the joy of desirable change is quickly overshadowed by the biting realities of change we did not see coming or tried with all our might to avoid.
If you don’t have a landmark, something that helps you see where sand has been eroded or deposited by the tide, wind and waves, you can go years without noticing what is changing in the natural landscape. Again, this is true for us as humans: It can take us a long time to notice, really see, changes in ourselves and in each other and to discern whether or not they are good. Invariably, it seems to me, I see others clearly only as I learn to see myself. I can learn to love more freely, or my heart can contract. I can grow in my ability to extend forgiveness, accepting with some measure of grace what I cannot change in others (or in myself), or I can refuse, and watch my personal world grow smaller and more insular. I can look at myself honestly, my interactions with my family, my casual and more intimate friends, my marriage, and see how I have changed, or I can shut my inner eye to what is clearly visible: Have I moved toward or away from people whose lives intersect mine? Are my thoughts of others tinged with greater or lesser judgment? More or less jealousy? Does more or less generosity flow from my heart, my attitude, my wallet, my time? Am I still held hostage by my fears of irrelevance, my relentless pride, my desire to be liked, my need to be loved?
Hebrews 13:8 says Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever. He is our marker, our one constant. He is the lone structure against which we can measure how we have changed and whether it has been for our good or to our detriment. I ask myself: How am I being personally changed by the eternal I AM, He whose truth, justice, mercy and love are changeless? He who has charged me to become more like him.
The swirl of life constantly wreaks change all around us. We are changed by the various pressures that bear upon us personally. And we are changed by pressures that bear upon those we know and love, by pressures on our families and friends, our communities and society at large. The minutia of theology can, over time, change. I have witnessed families suffer staggering splits because they can’t agree on some small area of Biblical interpretation. The church can – and certainly has – changed for better and for worse through the millennia. The emphasis on what matters most about our personal faith can change: Should it be more about me or more about others, more about my salvation or more about the gaping, crushing needs of the world?
I look back on my life and wonder: Has it all made me more like the person I was created to be, or less? Have the tides in my life – some turbulent, some unseen by the naked eye – shaped, changed, built, revealed more of who I was meant to be by God, or have I resisted, so sure was I that I did not need to be changed, did not want to be changed, fought change I was ultimately powerless to stop?
Loving your blog, Andrea!