Every Ride Ends in a Fall
I stood on the balcony of the hotel and watched the double red flags flying in the strong wind. Surfers, a rare sight on Alabama’s Gulf Coast, were the only people on the beach or in the water. Hurricane Sally, still a day away, was moving slowly toward the beach.
The water ebbed and flowed, churned and crashed. The surfers dotted the water, standing waist high, watching what came toward them. Some waves passed them by; some, they dove underneath; and others, they mounted their boards and rode. Apparently, there is the perfect wave. They know what they are looking for and they wait for it to come and carry them.
This sight intrigued me, partly because the surfers were flocking toward what the rest of us were fleeing. I’d walked on the beach that morning and the wind was so strong, it felt like my skin was being sandblasted. I paused to speak to a woman and got grit in my teeth when I opened my mouth. I didn’t dare put my toes in that turbulent water, and yet these surfers walk right out into it, mount their boards, paddle farther out, and position themselves to ride the waves.
The intensity of surfing intrigues me, the treacherous water, the harsh wind, the core strength and balance to guide that board and ride the wave. It must be fun, because after all that effort, every single ride ends in a fall.
I’m sure they get better, like all athletes who practice a sport, and the more skilled they become the more enjoyable it is, but they never “win.” The wave wins every time.
Every single ride …
ends
in
a
fall.
Something true about what it means to be human is mirrored in these pre-hurricane surfers. No matter how much we practice, how good we appear to be living our lives, we will still fall. Every. Single. Time. We may get more skilled at handling our lives as we practice. We hopefully choose better waves and our rides last longer, but we never reach a state where we don’t need forgiveness and the sheer mercy and grace of God to carry us to shore.
I used to think spiritual maturity was like climbing stairs or moving through stages. We get to new heights or places with God and will never find ourselves back in bad patterns or old ruts again. That is not how it is and it’s dangerous to think that way. Life with God is more like surfing. We can engage in practices and disciplines and put ourselves in places to receive grace, but the power is not ours and falling is a given.
The spiritual journey has moments of exhilaration, much like perfectly balancing and riding that surfboard, but before and after those glorious moments are the waiting and watching, the paddling and practicing, and ducking and falling. Accepting that inevitability opens me up more to receiving from God what I cannot do for myself. Pride tells me I ride the wave in my own strength and skill. But God’s unending and unconditional love, his strength and power, like the waves Hurricane Sally brought to the Gulf, they are what carry me.
