Recently, I cleaned up the aftermath left behind after last year’s king tide. 

A king tide is an extremely high tide caused by events that amplify the gravitational pull between the Earth and the Moon. These rare tides occur when the Earth, Moon, and Sun are aligned, compounding the strength of the forces that shape the tide. 

One overcast day, we observed the slow rise of the ocean creep over the bulkhead and flood the sidewalk, surging — inch by inch — into a fifteen-foot swell. At the point when panic began to ensue, as the level reached the bottom of the front step, the water began its retreat back out to sea. Thankfully, the tide left no structural damage. Only a muddy, mucky mess. 

The mess left behind is the mess I rallied strength to face after months of procrastinating. I had to dig deep to find the mental and physical strength to dredge through the muck, overturn rocks, and wash away layers of algae. 

This hesitation to clean up the mess reflected my own hesitation to face what the tide of life brought in last year.

Like a king tide, a great shift in life’s course set off a wave of grief — a grief that slowly rose and rose, overturning layers of sludge and sadness. Unresolved grief over losing my mom, the heartbreak of changing relationships, and health issues surfaced at the sudden and unexpected loss of a beloved pet. Overwhelmed by this tide of grief, I questioned my resolve. Did I need to just “get over” my ache? Even though I mask the depth of this sadness from others as I move forward in daily life, does God know how my heart lingers in an undercurrent of sorrow? 

As I dug through the dirt, overturning rocks and pulling out plants deadened by the tide, I turned over the muck of my own mourning that had been buried for a very long time. As I gave space to acknowledge sorrow, God’s word rose from somewhere in my memory, reminding me of His promise during painful seasons of the past.

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
Isaiah 43:19

Our world can be overturned by a king tide, knocking us over and unexpectedly leaving us unprepared for the flood of emotions that will overwhelm us. Yet, as the tide recedes, we will get glimpses of God’s grace in the new life that emerges. 

I grieve the loss of my mother and many other relationships that have shifted from the gravitational pull of this world. But, after a season of loss, the birth of my first grandson brings new life and joy to my heart. I delight in the wonder of his gaze and the sweet way he pats my cheeks with his tender, little hand. 

In the gaze of my beloved grandson, I sense an unconditional love I have not known before. And, through my grandson’s gaze, God reveals a new dimension of His love — a love that delights in me.  That squeals in my presence. That chatters in my ear with words only He understands. 

And when my sweet grandson rests his head on my shoulder to sleep, I sense with new perspective how God longs for me to surrender and rest my head in His presence with the same kind of abandon. 

God does a new thing when we are able to clear out the muck of grief buried in our hearts. He overturns sadness with a tender love — the kind of love that heals with grace. This love is a love that delights in the return and recognition of a beloved face, over and over and over again. This love is a love that comforts, a love that soothes like a pat on the back and the soft Shhhhh I utter to my grandson as I rock him to sleep. 

This love is a love that anticipates being face-to-face with a loved one, trembling with awe and wonder. It is a love called, in Hebrew, racham — the deep, from the deepest bowels, innermost love of a mother. It is the love of a mother I grieve. Even still, it is the love I experience for the first time as a grandmother, healing me and teaching me that, This is how God loves me, too. Deeply, from the deepest bowels, with an innermost love.

Indeed, in the aftermath of overwhelming tides, God quiets all of our aching hearts with His tender love.

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