The Waves. Beneath the Surface.

This past weekend, my son and I spent the day at the beach. It was one of those perfect days where the sun warms your skin just enough, the breeze carries the salty scent of the sea, and time seems to stretch a little longer between moments. We built sandcastles, chased seagulls, and stood at the edge of the water, letting the waves rush over our feet.

At one point, while watching the ocean roll in and out, my son turned to me with the kind of earnest curiosity only a child can have and asked, *“What are waves? Where do they come from?”

I gave him the practical answer — how the wind moves across the surface of the water, how the pull of the moon and the push of distant storms create the patterns we see. But long after we left the beach, his question stayed with me. It became less about the ocean and more about something deeper — something personal.

On the drive home, I found myself thinking about the waves in my own life. Not the literal ones, but the emotional, mental, and spiritual waves. The ones that rise up suddenly and knock me off balance. The ones that seem to come out of nowhere, leaving me struggling to catch my breath.

I started to realize that, just like in the ocean, these waves don’t appear from nothing. They are caused by the accumulation of small things — tiny stresses, small disappointments, unresolved fears, quiet anxieties — all gathering unnoticed on the "floor" of who I am. Over time, they build up. And when the conditions are right, or when life sends a strong enough gust, those small things stir up and form waves that crash against the surface of my life.

Every time I brace myself, thinking I’m strong enough to withstand them, they still find a way to knock me down. It’s humbling. And it’s a reminder: it’s not always the big, obvious challenges that cause us to stumble. Sometimes, it’s the small, invisible things — the habits we neglect, the emotions we suppress, the thoughts we leave unchecked — that slowly gather power beneath the surface.

Sitting with that thought made me realize something important: I need to do a better job tending to the small things. The things no one else sees. The quiet corners of my heart and mind where fears settle, where dreams are quietly abandoned, where little grievances collect like driftwood on the shore.

It made me think of the verse from Proverbs 4:23:

"Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it."

If I can guard my heart — if I can be mindful of what’s building up inside — maybe the waves won't feel so overwhelming. Maybe I’ll find myself standing a little taller when life inevitably stirs the waters.

The ocean will always have waves. That’s part of its nature. And maybe life is the same way — maybe it’s not about stopping the waves from coming, but about learning how to prepare for them, how to meet them with grace instead of fear.

Watching my son run into the water that day, fearless and laughing, I realized that maybe I need to approach my own waves the same way — not with dread, but with curiosity, resilience, and a deeper understanding of what’s stirring beneath the surface.

Because in the end, it’s not just the ocean that holds unseen depths. We do too.