The ocean always amazes me. There is always movement.
Yet, there are moments when the ocean doesn’t just move — it presses. And anyone who has been tossed around by a huge wave, will agree with me... The pressure and power of the ocean is not something to be messed around with.
We often refer to the waves rhythmically rolling in. But that's while you are safely and casually standing on the beach.
When you enter the water and suddenly get hit by a big wave, you suddenly experience that power...not gently, not rhythmically, but with intent.
Standing along the shoreline, I often watch wave after wave rolling in, each one gathering strength from somewhere beyond the horizon. There’s a quiet tension in that build-up — a sense that something is coming, even before it arrives.
But during a recent visit to the beach, I looked at it from a different perspective and it was quite an experience.
Where I normally would be in awe by the power of the ocean, watching the spray as the waves are crashing onto the rocks, my focus shifted towards the rocks this time.
Yes, the power of the water is incredible, yet, the rocks don’t move.
In that, I saw a lesson to be learned which could be applied in life.
At first, the scene feels almost calm.
The water rises, folds, and begins its approach.
In the distance, ships drift along their paths — moving, adapting, adjusting. Everything seems in motion. Even when at anchor, you cannot say the ships are lying completely still. There is always some movement taking place out on the ocean.
Everything...except for the rocks.
The rocks remain.
A surge of white water crashes forward, breaking against the dark, weathered surfaces. For a moment, the force feels overwhelming...it is as if the ocean is trying to destroy whatever gets in the way.
The water sprays into the air as the wave hits the rocks. Water spills over every edge. It's almost as if you can feel the pressure, even though you're not even in the water...
But still... the rocks hold.
But this time, what fascinates me most, isn’t the power of the wave.
It’s the response of what stands against it.
These formations have been shaped over time. Day after day, week after week, month after month...it's been worn down, carved, and tested again and again.
They don’t resist because they are untouched. They resist because they have endured.
And then, just as quickly as it arrives, the water retreats.
The energy fades.
The surface settles.
The noise disappears into the distance.
And the rocks remain exactly where they were.
Anchored!
Watching these scenes repeating itself in front of me, it felt like I was learning something from it.
How many times do we have to face storms (or waves) in life and it feels like we have nowhere to go. You have no option but to stand firmly.
Maybe that’s the quiet lesson hidden in scenes like this.
Stability doesn’t mean the absence of pressure.
It means holding your position through it.
Not everything that stands still is weak.
Some things are simply anchored.
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